“Father,” said young Mezrimbi, his beautiful countenance distorted by the vilest passions of Jehanum, “I have planned as follows:—­I have mutes ready to obey my wishes, and a corrosive burning acid, which will eat deeply into the flesh of the proud Acota.  I know that he will pass the time away in the garden of the royal grove.  I know even the bower in which he hath wooed and won the fair princess.  Let us call these mutes, explain to them what we wish, and by to-morrow’s sun the throne of Souffraria will fall to the race of Mezrimbi.  Are we not of the purest blood of the plains, and is not Acota but a rayah of the mountains?”

And the chief Brahmin was pleased with his son’s proposal; the mutes were summoned, the black, tongueless, everythingless, hideous creatures, bowed in their humility, and followed their master, who, with the chief Brahmin, ventured by a circuitous route to invade the precincts of the royal grove.  Slowly and cautiously did they proceed towards the bower, where, as Mezrimbi had truly said, Acota was waiting for his beloved princess.  Fortunately, as they approached, a disturbed snake, hissing in his anger, caused an exclamation from the old Brahmin, which aroused Acota from his delicious reverie.  Through the foliage he perceived and recognised Mezrimbi, his father, and the mutes.  Convinced that they meditated mischief towards himself, he secreted himself among the rose-bushes, lying prostrate on the ground; but in his haste, he left his cloak and mandolin.  Mezrimbi entered the bower, and explained to the mutes by signs what it was which he desired, showed them the cloak and mandolin to make known the object of his wrath, and put into their hands the bottle of corrosive acid.  They satisfied him that they comprehended his wishes, and the party then retired, the chief Brahmin quitting the grove for his own house, the mutes lying in wait under some bushes for the arrival of Acota, and Mezrimbi walking away into the recesses of the grove, anxious as to the issue of the plot.  Acota, perfectly aware of what was intended, laughed in his sleeve, and thanked Allah for this fortunate discovery; he crawled away on his hands and knees, so as not to be perceived, and hid himself, with his cloak and mandolin, watching in turn the motions of the others—­and thus did all parties watch until the sun descended behind the blue hills which divided the kingdom of Souffraria from that of the other kingdom, which my treacherous memory has dared to forget in your highness’s sublime presence.  Mezrimbi was the only one who was not motionless:  he paced up and down in all the anxiety of anticipation and doubt, and at last he stopped, and, tired out with contending feelings, sat down at the foot of a tree, close to where Acota was concealed.  The nightingale was pouring forth her sweet melody, and, friendly to lovers, she continued it until Mezrimbi, who had listened to it, and whose angry feelings had been soothed with her dulcet strains,