Though Schaban had crammed himself immoderately before, yet he agreed to stand the test, and accordingly took a piece of the tart; but his stomach rising against it, he was obliged to spit it out of his mouth:  he still, however, pursued the lie, pretending he had over-eaten himself the day before, so that his stomach was cloyed.  The vizier, irritated by the eunuch’s frivolous pretences, and convinced of his guilt, ordered him to lie flat upon the ground, and to be soundly bastinadoed.  In undergoing this punishment, the poor wretch shrieked out prodigiously, and at last confessed the truth:  I own, cried he, that we did eat a cream-tart at the pastry-cook’s, and that it was much better than that upon the table.  The widow of Noureddin thought it was out of spite to her, and with a design to mortify her, that Schaban commended the pastry-cook’s tart; and accordingly said, I cannot believe the cook’s tarts are better than mine, and am resolved to satisfy myself upon that head.  Where does he live?  Go immediately, and buy me one of his tarts.  The eunuch having received of her the money necessary for the purchase, repaired to Bedreddin’s shop, and, addressing him, Good Mr. Pastry-cook, said he, take this money, and let me have one of your cream-tarts; one of our ladies wants to taste them.  Bedreddin chose one of the best, and gave it to the eunuch.  Take this, said he, I will engage it is an excellent one, and can assure you that nobody is able to make the like unless it be my mother, who perhaps still lives.  Schaban returned speedily to the tents, and gave the tart to Noureddin’s widow, who snatched it eagerly, and broke off a piece; but had no sooner put it to her mouth, than she screamed and swooned away, Schemseddin, being present, was extremely surprised at the accident, threw water upon her face himself, and was very active in succouring her.  As soon as she recovered, My God! cried she, it must certainly be my son, my dear Bedreddin, who made this tart!

When the vizier Schemseddin heard his sister-in-law say that the maker of the tart brought by the eunuch must without doubt be Bedreddin, he was overjoyed; but reflecting that his joy might prove groundless, and in all likelihood the conjecture of Noureddin’s widow be false, Madam, said he, why are you of that mind?  Do you think there may not be a pastry-cook in the world who knows how to make cream-tarts as well as your son?  I own, replied she, there may be pastry-cooks who can make as good tarts; but as I make them after a peculiar manner, and nobody but my son is let into the secret, it must absolutely be he who made this.  Come, my brother, added she in transport, let us call up mirth and joy; we have at last found what we have been so long looking for!  Madam, said the vizier, I entreat you to moderate your impatience, for we shall quickly know the truth.  All we have to do, is to bring the pastry-cook hither, and then you and my daughter will readily distinguish whether it is Bedreddin or not; but you must both