He bought fresh merchandise, and began to traffic, which he did with such good fortune that at the end of six months he found he had gained nearly a hundred sequins. He did not fail to pre­sent himself at the king’s palace.

The treasurer came to receive him, and asked whether he had his two hundred sequins.

‘I have nearly three hundred,’ replied the merchant; ‘fortune has been very favourable to me this time.’

‘Since that is so,’ replied the treasurer, ‘I am going to conduct you to the king. He will make no difficulty in seeing you.’

At these words he took the young merchant by the hand, and conducted him to Nasiraddoleh’s cabinet. As soon as the prince perceived Abder­rahman he rose to receive him, and after having embraced him repeatedly, ‘Oh, my dear friend!’ he said, ‘I do not doubt your having been very surprised at the reception given to you. You had reason, I confess, to expect a more agreeable one from me; but do not bear me ill-will, I beg of you. You know that misfortunes are contagious. I heard of your disgrace from a merchant of Bagdad from whom I had asked news of you. I did not dare offer you a refuge in my palace, nor even see you, for fear lest I should incur your ill-fortune, and be incapacitated from serving you when your troubles were at an end. Now,’ he continued, ‘that misfortune seems to have deserted you, nothing prevents my following the impulse of my friendship. You will remain, henceforth, at my court. I will make every effort to make you for­get the troubles you have suffered.’

Nasiraddoleh had an apartment in his palace given to his friend, and nominated officers to serve him. They passed the first day at table together, and when night had come the king said to the young merchant: ‘I wish to acquit myself towards you for the sacrifice you made me of the young slave you loved. I propose to do the same by you. I am going to give to you the one most dear to me of my women; I propose to send her to you to-night on condition that you marry her.’

‘My lord,’ replied Abderrahman, ‘I thank your majesty for your kindness to me; but permit me to refuse the favour you offer me. I can love no woman after Zeineb, and I beg of you not to force me.’

‘However absorbed you may be in Zeineb,’ replied the king, ‘I doubt very much if you will be able to see the person I destine for you without becoming enamoured of her; all that I ask of you is to have an interview with her. If her intelli­gence and beauty have no effect upon you, I will not press you to marry her.’

‘My lord,’ replied Abderrahman, ‘I consent to see her, since you wish it. However, be assured that, in spite of all her charms, she will not be able to kindle a fresh flame in my heart.’

At last Abderrahman retired to his apartment, where he had no sooner arrived than the chief eunuch, accompanied by a veiled lady, appeared and said:

‘My lord, here is the person whom the king, my master, wishes to give you. She is the most beautiful of his women. He could not make you a more valuable present.’ Thus saying he made a profound reverence to Abderrahman, left the slave, and went out.

The young Bagdad merchant saluted the lady very politely, and begged her to seat herself on a large fine brocade sofa trimmed with gold embroidery.

She sat down. He placed himself beside her, and said:

‘Oh you, who beneath this veil represent the sun enveloped in a thick cloud, listen to me, I pray. I am certain the king’s project alarms you. You doubtless fear that, prompt to profit by his generosity, I am going to attach your fate to mine by immortal bonds; but cease to fear that I shall do you this violence. I love Nasiraddoleh too much to take from him an object he adores, and more­over, I confess I am little affected by the sacrifice which the prince wishes to make me. As I have not looked upon your charms, this avowal cannot offend you.’

He was silent after having said these words, and he awaited the slave’s reply, when all of a sudden she burst out laughing. Then she raised her veil, and the merchant recognised in her his dear Zeineb.

‘Oh, my princess!’ he cried, in a transport of joy and surprise, ‘it is you whom I see!’

‘Yes, my dear Abderrahman,’ she replied, ‘it is your Zeineb who is given back to you. The King of Moussul has not been less generous than you. As soon as he knew all my love for you, and saw that it did not yield to his attentions, he ceased pursuing me, and he has for a long time kept me here only to give me back to you.’

The beautiful Zeineb and the young merchant passed the night in testifying to each other the mutual joy they had in seeing each other again, and at the manner of their meeting.

The following morning Nasiraddoleh came to their apartment. They both threw themselves at his feet to thank him for his kindness.

He raised them and said, ‘Happy lovers, taste at your ease the pleasures of a perfect union here at my court. To unite your hearts more closely, I am going to command preparations to be made for your marriage. If I cannot cease to love Zeineb, my love shall at least only show itself in the favours I propose heaping upon you.’

He did not content himself with giving them large pensions; he assigned them more than two thousand acres of land exempt from all charges. To crown his happiness, Abderrahman received pleasant news from Bagdad. He learnt that one of his accusers, impelled by remorse, had gone and revealed everything to the grand vizir, who, on his deposition, had had the other accuser put to death, had pardoned the warder, and declared the accused innocent. Hearing this, he journeyed to Bagdad, and went to the vizir, who gave him back a part of his wealth; but he gave it all to the warder who had so generously saved him, and he returned immediately to Moussul, where he passed the rest of his days in peace and happiness.

Sutlumemé here finished the story of Nasirad­doleh, of Abderrahman, and Zeineb. The women of Farrukhnaz praised very highly the generosity of the young merchant and the King of Moussul, but Farrukhnaz remarked that the constancy of the beautiful Circassian was much more meritorious than that of her lover.

‘Oh, my princess!’ said Farrukhnaz, ‘since you seem to love the character of faithful people, I will, with your permission, relate the story of Repsima. I do not think the story will weary you.’

The princess’s women showed such a desire to hear this new story that Farrukhnaz permitted Sutlumemé to relate it.