The queen was taken with Assad from the moment she first saw him, and was extremely glad to hear that he was a slave; resolving to buy him, cost what he would.  She asked Assad what was his name.

“Great queen,” he replied, with tears in his eyes, “does your majesty ask what my name was formerly, or what it is now?” The queen answered, “Have you two names then?” “Alas!  I have,” said Assad:  “I was once called Assad (most happy); and now my name is Motar” (devoted to be sacrificed).

Margiana not being able to comprehend the meaning of his answer, interpreted it to refer to his condition of a slave.  “Since you are clerk to the captain,” said she, “no doubt you can write well; let me see your hand.”

Behram had furnished Assad with pen, ink, and paper, as a token of his office, that the queen might take him for what he designed she should.

The prince stepped a little aside, and wrote as follows, suitable to his wretched circumstances: 

“The blind man avoids the ditch into which the clear-sighted falls.  Fools advance themselves to honours, by discourses which signify nothing, while men of sense and eloquence live in poverty and contempt.  The Mussulmaun with all his riches is miserable.  The infidel triumphs.  We cannot hope things will be otherwise.  The Almighty has decreed it shall be so.”

Assad presented the paper to queen Margiana, who admired alike the moral of the sentences, and the goodness of the writing.  She needed no more to have her heart inflamed, and to feel a sincere concern for his misfortunes.  She had no sooner read the lines, than she addressed herself to Behram, saying, “Do which you will, either sell me this slave, or make me a present of him; perhaps it will turn most to your account to do the latter.”

Behram answered insolently, that he could neither give nor sell him; that he wanted his slave, and would keep him.

Queen Margiana, provoked at his rudeness, would not talk to him any more on the subject.  She took the prince by the arm, and turned him before her to the palace, sending Behram word, that if he stayed the night in her port, she would confiscate his goods, and burn his ship.  He was therefore forced to return to his vessel, and prepare to put to sea again, notwithstanding the tempest had not yet subsided.

Queen Margiana, on entering her palace, commanded supper to be got ready; and while it was providing, she ordered Assad to be brought into her apartment, where she bade him sit down.  Assad would have excused himself:  “It becomes not a slave,” said he, “to presume to this honour.”

“To a slave! “replied the queen:  “you were so a moment ago; henceforward you are no more a slave.  Sit down near me, and tell me the story of your life; for by what you wrote, and the insolence of that slave-merchant, I guess there is something extraordinary in your history.”