“Your sublime highness is right; no man ever could have guessed such a thing,” replied Mustapha.  “There is but one way to account for it, which is, that the princess must have told him her intentions when they were alone in the royal garden.”

“Very true, Mustapha—­well, thank Allah, the princess is married at last.”

“I beg pardon of your sublime highness, but the beauteous princess is not yet married,” said Menouni; “the story is not yet finished.”

“Wallah el nebi!” exclaimed the pacha.  “By God and his prophet, is she never to be married?”

“Yes, your sublime highness, but not just yet.  Shall I proceed?”

“Yes, Menouni, and the faster you get on the better.”

* * * * *

“Amidst the cries of ‘Long live Acota, Souffraria’s legitimate king.’”

* * * * *

“Legitimate.  Pray, good Menouni, what may that word mean?”

“Legitimate, your sublime highness, implies that a king and his descendants are chosen by Allah to reign over a people.”

“Well, but I don’t see that Allah had much to do with the choice of Acota.”

“Nor with the choice of any other king, I suspect, your sublime highness; but still the people were made to believe so, and that is all that is sufficient.  Allah does not interfere in the choice of any but those who reign over true believers.  The Sultan is the Holy Prophet’s vicegerent on earth—­and he, guided by the prophet, invests virtue and wisdom with the Kalaats of dignity, in the persons of his pachas.”

“Very true,” said the pacha, “the Sultan is guided by Allah, and,” continued he in a low tone to Mustapha, “a few hundred purses to boot.  Menouni, you may proceed.”

* * * * *

Amidst the cries of “Long live Acota, Souffraria’s legitimate king!” Acota was led to the throne by the attendant grandees of the nation, where he received the homage of all present.  It was arranged by the grandees and mollahs that the marriage should take place the next day.  The assembly broke up, and hastened in every direction to make preparations for the expected ceremony.

But who can describe the jealousy, the envy, and the indignation which swelled in the breasts of Mezrimbi and his father, the chief Brahmin?  They met, they consulted, they planned, and they schemed.  Acota was not yet king, although he was proclaimed as such—­he was not king until his marriage with the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu, “the cream-tart of delight,” and should he be scarred or blemished before the marriage of the ensuing day, then must the Brahmin, by the will of the old king, choose his successor; and who could he choose but his own son?