Were we not destined to meet by one planet? 
          Can a fate sever us?—­can it, ah! can it?

And she sang tender songs to him, mazing him with blandishments, so that the aim of existence and the summit of ambition now seemed to him the life of a king in that palace among the damsels; and he thought, ’Wah! these be no illusions, and they speak the thing that is in them.  Wullahy, loveliness is their portion; they call me King.’

Then she that had sung to him said, ’Surely we have been waiting thee long to crown thee our King!  Thou hast been in some way delayed, O glorious one!’

And he answered, ’O fair ones, transcending in affability, I have stumbled upon obstructions in my journey hither, and I have met with adventures, but of this crowning that was to follow them I knew nought.  Wullahy, thrice have I been saluted King; I whom fate selecteth for the shaving of Shagpat, and till now it was a beguilement, all emptiness.’

They marked his bewildered state, and some knelt before him, some held their arms out adoringly, some leaned to him with glistening looks, and he was fast falling a slave to their flatteries, succumbing to them; imagination fired him with the splendours due to one that was a king, and the thought of wearing a crown again took possession of his soul, and he cried, ’Crown me, O my handmaidens, and delay not to crown me; for, as the poet says: 

              “The king without his crown
               Hath a forehead like the clown”;

and the circle of my head itcheth for the symbols of majesty.’

At these words of Shibli Bagarag they arose quickly and clapped their hands, and danced with the nimble step of gladness, exclaiming, ’O our King! pleasant will be the time with him!’ And one smoothed his head and poured oil upon it; one brought him garments of gold and silk inwoven; one fetched him slippers like the sun’s beam in brightness; others stood together in clusters, and with lutes and wood-instruments, low-toned, singing odes to him; and lo! one took a needle and threaded it, and gave the thread into the hands of Shibli Bagarag, and with the point of the needle she pricked certain letters on his right wrist, and afterwards pricked the same letters on a door in the wall.  Then she said to him, ‘Is it in thy power to make those letters speak?’

He answered, ‘We will prove how that may be.’

So he flung some drops from the phial over the letters, and they glowed the colour of blood and flashed with a report, and it was as if a fiery forked-tongue had darted before them and spake the words written, and they were, ’This is the crown of him who bath achieved his aim and resteth here.’  Thereupon, she stuck the needle in the door, and he pulled the thread, and the door drew apart, and lo! a small chamber, and on a raised cushion of blue satin a glittering crown, thick with jewels as a frost, such as Ambition