The seductive creature piqued by this slight said to him in a melodious voice: 

“That book must be very interesting since it seems to be the sole object worthy of your attention.  Would it be taking a liberty to ask what science it treats of?”

The philosopher kept his eyes lowered as he replied: 

“The subject of this book is beyond the comprehension of ladies.”

This rebuff excited more than ever the curiosity of the young Arabian woman.  She put out the prettiest little foot that had ever left its fleeting imprint on the shifting sands of the desert.  The philosopher was perturbed, and his eyes were too powerfully tempted to resist wandering from these feet, which betokened so much, up to the bosom, which was still more ravishingly fair; and soon the flame of his admiring glance was mingled with the fire that sparkled in the pupils of the young Asiatic.  She asked again the name of the book in tones so sweet that the philosopher yielded to the fascination, and replied: 

“I am the author of the book; but the substance of it is not mine:  it contains an account of all the ruses and stratagems of women.”

“What!  Absolutely all?” said the daughter of the desert.

“Yes, all!  And it has been only by a constant study of womankind that I have come to regard them without fear.”

“Ah!” said the young Arabian girl, lowering the long lashes of her white eyelids.

Then, suddenly darting the keenest of her glances at the pretended sage, she made him in one instant forget the book and all its contents.  And now our philosopher was changed to the most passionate of men.  Thinking he saw in the bearing of the young woman a faint trace of coquetry, the stranger was emboldened to make an avowal.  How could he resist doing so?  The sky was blue, the sand blazed in the distance like a scimitar of gold, the wind of the desert breathed love, and the woman of Arabia seemed to reflect all the fire with which she was surrounded; her piercing eyes were suffused with a mist; and by a slight nod of the head she seemed to make the luminous atmosphere undulate, as she consented to listen to the stranger’s words of love.  The sage was intoxicated with delirious hopes, when the young woman, hearing in the distance the gallop of a horse which seemed to fly, exclaimed: 

“We are lost!  My husband is sure to catch us.  He is jealous as a tiger, and more pitiless than one.  In the name of the prophet, if you love your life, conceal yourself in this chest!”

The author, frightened out of his wits, seeing no other way of getting out of a terrible fix, jumped into the box, and crouched down there.  The woman closed down the lid, locked it, and took the key.  She ran to meet her husband, and after some caresses which put him into a good humor, she said: 

“I must relate to you a very singular adventure I have just had.”

“I am listening, my gazelle,” replied the Arab, who sat down on a rug and crossed his feet after the Oriental manner.