The slave seeing the Prince of the Nogaïs resolved to die rather than fly with her, began to cry, saying to him: ‘Is it possible, my lord, that you prefer death to the gratitude of a captive princess whose chains you can break? If Touran­dot is more beautiful than I, on the other hand I have a better heart than hers. Alas! when you presented yourself this morning at the divan, I trembled for you. I feared you would not answer the questions of the daughter of Altoun-Khan, and when you replied well to them I felt a fresh trouble arise in me; I felt that without doubt your life would be attempted. Ah! my dear prince,’ she added, ‘I conjure you to reflect and not let yourself be carried away by the passion which makes you face death without flinching. Let not a blind love make you despise a danger which alarms me; yield to the fear which I feel for you, and let us both, without delay, leave this place where I suffer cruel torments.’

‘Fair princess,’ replied the son of Timurtasch at these words, ‘whatever misfortune may befall me, I cannot make up my mind to so sudden a flight. You have, I admit, the means of rewarding your liberator and giving him a future full of charm. But I am not born to be happy; my fate is to love Tourandot, in spite of the horror in which she holds me; far from her, I should drag out languishing days.’

‘Well, ungrateful man, remain!’ abruptly inter­rupted the lady, rising. ‘Do not leave this place which has such delights for you, even if you must water it with your blood. I do not urge you to leave any longer; flight with a slave does not please you. Whatever ardour the Princess of China inspires in you, you have less love for her than aversion for me.’

Thus saying, she put on her veil again and left Calaf’s apartment.

The young prince, after the departure of the lady, remained on the sofa in great perplexity. ‘Can I believe,’ he said, ‘what I have just heard? Can barbarity be carried to this extent? But, alas! I cannot doubt it: this slave-princess was horrified at the step meditated by Tourandot. She came to warn me of it, and the sentiments alone that she gave expression to are sure guarantees of her sincerity. Ah! cruel daughter of the best of kings, is it thus you abuse the gifts you have received from Heaven? O Heaven! how could you have endowed this inhuman princess with such perfect beauty, or why have you given her so barbarous a soul combined with so much charm?’

Instead of seeking to procure some hours’ sleep, he passed the rest of the night absorbed in the most afflicting reflections. At last the day appeared, the sound of bells and drums was heard, and soon six mandarins came, as on the preceding day, to conduct him to the council. He crossed the courtyard where the soldiers of the king’s guard were drawn up in rows. He feared to lose his life here, thinking that, doubtless, the people chosen to assassinate him awaited him on his way. Far from being on his guard and thinking of defending himself, he walked like a man resolved to die, and even seemed to accuse his assassins of slowness. However, he passed through the courtyard without anyone attacking him, and he arrived in the first hall of the divan. ‘Ah! it is doubtless here,’ he said to himself, ‘that the san­guinary order of the princess is to be carried out.’ At the same time he looked all round, and everyone he saw seemed to him his murderer. He advanced, nevertheless, and entered the council chamber without receiving the mortal blow he expected. All the doctors and mandarins were already under their pavilions, and Altoun-Khan was about to appear. ‘What is the princess’s design?’ he then said to himself. ‘Does she wish to be the witness of my death, and does she wish to have me assassinated before the eyes of her father? Can the king be an accomplice in this? What am I to think? Can her feelings have changed. Can she have revoked my death warrant?’

Whilst in this state of uncertainty, the door of the inner palace opened and the king, accompanied by Tourandot, entered the hall. They placed themselves on their thrones. The Prince of the Nogaïs stood before them, and at the same distance as on the preceding day.

The chancellor, as soon as he saw the king seated, rose and asked the young prince whether he remembered having promised to renounce the princess if she replied correctly to the question which he had put to her. Calaf replied in the affirmative, and protested anew that on that con­dition he would cease to pretend to the honour of being the king’s son-in-law.

The chancellor then addressed Tourandot: ‘And you, great princess,’ he said, ‘you know the oath that binds you, and to which you have subjected yourself, if you do not to-day name the prince whose name has been asked of you.’

The king, persuaded that she could not reply to the question of Calaf, said to her: ‘My daughter, you have had ample time to reflect upon what has been proposed to you: but were a year given to you to think over it, I am of opinion that, in spite of your penetration, you would be obliged to admit at the end that it is beyond your powers. So, since you cannot guess it, yield with a good grace to the love of this young prince, and satisfy the wish I have to see him as your husband. He is worthy to be it, and to reign with you after me over the peoples of China.’

‘My lord,’ said Tourandot, ‘why do you suppose I cannot reply to this prince’s question? That is not as difficult as you think. If yester­day I suffered the ignominy of being beaten, to-day I aspire to the honour of victory. I am going to defeat this intrepid young man who has had too bad an opinion of my intelligence. Let him put his question to me, and I will answer it.’

‘Madam,’ then said the Prince of the Nogaïs, ‘I ask you the name of the prince who, after having suffered endless fatigue, and begged his bread, is at this moment overwhelmed with joy and glory?’

‘That prince,’ replied Tourandot, ‘is named Calaf, and he is the son of Timurtasch.’

As soon as Calaf heard his name spoken, he changed colour, his sight became obscured and he suddenly fell senseless. The king and the whole assembly, judging by this that Tourandot had really named the prince whose name had been asked her, grew pale and remained in great consternation.

After Prince Calaf had recovered from his swoon, through the attentions of the mandarins and of the king himself, who had descended from his throne to succour him, he addressed Touran­dot: ‘Beautiful princess,’ he said to her, ‘you are wrong if you think you have replied well to my question. The son of Timurtasch is not at all overwhelmed with joy and glory, he is rather covered with shame and overwhelmed with grief.’

‘I admit,’ said the princess, ‘that you are not filled with joy and glory at this moment, but you were when you put your question to me. So, prince, instead of having recourse to vain subtleties, admit that you have lost the rights which you had over Tourandot. I can, therefore, refuse you my hand, and abandon you to regret at having lost it. However, I wish you to know, and I declare it publicly here, that I am otherwise disposed towards you. The friendship which the king my father has conceived for you, and your particular merits, determine me to take you as my husband.’

At this speech the hall of the divan resounded with joy. The mandarins and doctors applauded the words of the princess. The king approached her, embraced her, and said: ‘My daughter, you could not take a resolution which would be more agreeable to me; thereby you will efface the bad impression which you have made on the mind of my people, and you will give to a father the satis­faction which he has long expected from you and which he despaired of ever receiving. Yes, the aversion you had for men, this aversion so contrary to nature, made me lose the sweet hope of seeing princes of my blood born to you. Happily this hatred ends to-day, and what crowns my wishes is that you have extinguished it in favour of a young hero who is dear to me. But tell us,’ he added, ‘how you have been able to guess the name of a prince who was unknown to you? By what charm have you discovered it?’

‘My lord,’ replied Tourandot, ‘it is not by enchantment that I have known it, it is by natural means; one of my slaves went last night to find Prince Calaf, and was ingenious enough to draw his secret from him; he ought to pardon me for having availed myself of this treachery, since I do not put it to bad use.’

‘Ah, charming Tourandot,’ cried the Prince of the Nogaïs at that moment, ‘is it possible that your sentiments are so favourable to me? From what a frightful abyss have you rescued me, to put me in the foremost place in the world. Alas! how unjust I was. Whilst you were preparing for me so beautiful a fate, I thought you capable of the blackest perfidy. Deceived by a horrible fable which disturbed my reason, I repaid your goodness with injurious suspicions. I am impatient to expiate my injustice at your feet.’