The Arab’s wife led her into a little room and said to her: ‘You will be quite at peace here; no intruders will come and interrupt you at your prayers.’ It was a great consolation to Repsima to have found this retreat. She gave thanks to Heaven without ceasing. But, alas! her troubles were not at an end; many other misfortunes hap­pened to her.

The negro who served in the Arab’s tent, and whose duties were to groom the horses and to lead the cattle to and from the pasture, cast a profane eye upon Repsima. ‘How beautiful she is,’ he said, ‘and how sweet would be my lot if I could make her love me!’

Calid, although he was one of the most frightful monsters of his species, did not despair of becoming a happy lover. This hope and the beauty of the beloved object augmented his love to such a degree that he resolved to declare it on the first favourable opportunity.

It soon offered itself. He seized it one day when the Arab and his wife were out. He entered Repsima’s chamber. ‘I have,’ he said, ‘waited long for the moment in which I might be able to say to you that I am dying for love of you. I am about to die if you do not return my love.’

‘Oh, wretch!’ she replied, ‘how could you think you would attract my attention? Were you the handsomest and best made of men, your mad ardour would meet with no response, and you flatter your­self with the hope of pleasing me! Leave me; I only look with horror upon you. If ever,’ she continued, ‘you speak to me again of love, I shall inform your master, who will punish your insolence.’

She said these words in such a firm tone of voice that he knew he had no chance of making such a conquest. As he was not less malignant than Revendeh, he thought to revenge himself upon the woman who despised his love; but he set about it in a very strange manner. The Arab had a child in the cradle, and this son was the joy of its father and mother. One night Calid went and cut off this child’s head, and carrying the dagger with which he had done this barbarous action into Repsima’s room, he placed it under the bed of the lady whilst she slept. Moreover, he dropped blood from the child’s cradle as far as the innocent woman’s bed, as he wished suspicion to fall on her; and he even sullied her robe with blood.

The following morning, when the Arab and his wife perceived the child in the state in which the negro had left it, they uttered frightful cries, tore their faces, and put cinders on their heads. Calid ran to them and asked the cause of their grief, as if he had not known it. They showed him the cradle bathed in blood and their lifeless son. At this spectacle he feigned an extreme grief, he tore his clothes, uttered wild cries. ‘Oh, unparalleled misfortune! Oh, detestable treachery! If I did but know who had dealt the blow! If at this moment I did but hold in my hand the author of so horrible a crime, I would tear him in pieces. But,’ he added, ‘it can, I think, be discovered. We have only to follow the bloody traces of the murder.’

At these words his master and he followed the drops of blood, which led them to Repsima’s room. The negro drew from under the bed the dagger he had put there, and pointed out to the Arab that the lady’s clothes were all covered with blood. Then he said: ‘Oh, my master! you see in what manner this unhappy woman repays your kindness to her.’

The Arab was extremely amazed when he saw that he had indeed occasion to suspect Repsima of having committed so cruel an action. ‘Oh, wretched woman!’ he said, ‘is it thus that you observe the laws of hospitality? Why have you shed the blood of my son? What had this poor innocent child done to arm your hand against it? Inhuman woman! the services I have rendered you deserved to be rewarded differently.’

Thus saying he melted into tears, and gave way to despair.

‘Oh, my dear lord!’ said Calid to him, ‘should you speak thus to this miserable stranger? Do you content yourself with reproaching her? Plunge rather the fatal dagger into her breast which she has used to destroy your only son. If you do not wish to revenge yourself, let me avenge you. I will punish the wretch who is bathed in a child’s blood.’

Thus saying, he took the dagger and was about to plunge it into the heart of Repsima, who was so amazed that anyone should dare accuse her of so dark a deed that she remained in perfect silence. She had not the strength to speak to justify herself, and the negro was about to strike when the Arab stayed his arm.

‘What are you doing?’ said Calid to him. ‘Would you prevent my punishing a wicked woman, who does not recognise the laws of hospi­tality? Let me remove from the face of the earth a monster who will commit other crimes if spared now.’

At these words he raised his arm a second time to deliver a mortal blow to Repsima; but the Arab again restrained him and forbad him to kill her. In spite of his despair and that appearances were against the wife of Temim, he could not believe her guilty. He wanted to know what she would say to justify herself. He asked her why she had assassinated the child. She replied that she knew nothing about it, and began to weep so bitterly that the robber had pity on her.

The negro perceived this, and in spite of the prohibition his master had made against his strik­ing the lady, he wanted to stab her. The eagerness he displayed to kill her displeased the Arab, who ordered him to retire.

‘Go, Calid!’ he said to him; ‘your zeal carries you too far: I will not have this woman’s life taken. I believe her innocent in spite of appear­ances.’

The robber’s wife, deeply as she felt her son’s death, also could not persuade herself that Repsima was guilty of the crime imputed to her. ‘It were better,’ she said to her husband, ‘to send away this woman without harming her than to kill her with­out being certain of her guilt.’

The Arab agreed, and said to Repsima, ‘Whether you are innocent or guilty, I can no longer shelter you here. Every time my wife and I saw you we should remember our son, and every day the sight of you would renew our grief. Leave this tent, and go and choose a refuge where you wish. You should be thankful to me for my moderation. Instead of taking your life I even wish to give you money to live on.’

Repsima extolled the justice of the Arab, and said to him that Heaven was too just not to reveal to him one day the author of the crime. Then she thanked him for his kindness to her. But when he presented to her a purse containing a hundred gold sequins, she said, ‘Keep your money, and leave me to Providence; it will have care for me.’

‘No, no,’ he replied, ‘I insist on your taking these sequins; they will not be useless to you.’

She accepted them, and after having begged the robber’s wife not to think ill of her, she left the Arab habitation.

She walked all day without resting, and at the beginning of the night she arrived at the gates of a town not far from the sea. She knocked by chance at the door of a small house where a good old woman lived, who opened the door and asked what she wanted.

‘Oh, mother!’ replied Repsima, ‘I am a stranger. I have just arrived in this town; I know no one in it. I beg you to be charitable enough to receive me into your house.’

The old woman consented and gave her a little room.

Then the wife of Temim, taking out of her purse a sequin, gave it to her hostess and said:

‘Here, my good mother, go and get provisions for our supper.’

The old woman went out, and returned shortly afterwards with some dates and preserves, and they both began to eat. After supper Repsima related her story to the old woman, who was much touched by it: then they went to bed.

The following day Temim’s wife wished to bathe: the old woman accompanied her. When they were on their road, they saw a young man whose hands were tied, and who had a rope round his neck: the executioner was leading him to punishment, and a crowd of people were follow­ing him. Repsima asked what crime the young man had committed: she was told that he was a debtor, and that the custom of the country was to hang those who did not pay their debts.

‘And how much does he owe?’ said Temim’s wife.

‘He owes sixty sequins,’ they replied; ‘if you pay for him you will save his life.’

‘Very willingly,’ she replied, drawing out her purse. ‘To whom must I give the money?’

The cadi was immediately informed that a young lady offered to pay for the debtor.

The creditor was summoned. Repsima counted out sixty sequins to him, and the young man was immediately set at liberty. All the people, charmed at the stranger’s generosity, were anxious to know who she was, so that instead of going to the public baths she took leave of her old hostess, and left the town to escape the importunate curiosity of the inhabitants.