Ganem was one of the last who heard of it; for, as I have before observed, he hardly ever went abroad.  Being, however, at length informed of it, “Madam,” said he to the caliph’s fair favourite, “you are supposed in Bagdad to be dead, and I do not question but that Zobeide herself believes it.  I bless heaven that I am the cause, and the happy witness of your being alive; would to God, that, taking advantage of this false report, you would share my fortune, and go far from hence to reign in my heart!  But whither does this pleasing transport carry me?  I do not consider that you are born to make the greatest prince in the world happy; and that only Haroon al Rusheed is worthy of you.  Supposing you could resolve to give him up for me, and that you would follow me, ought I to consent?  No, it is my part always to remember, ‘that what belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave.’”

The lovely Fetnah, though moved by the tenderness of the passion he expressed, yet prevailed with herself not to encourage it.  “My lord,” said she to him, “we cannot obstruct the momentary triumph of Zobeide.  I am not surprised at the artifice she uses to conceal her guilt:  but let her go on; I flatter myself that sorrow will soon follow her triumph.  The caliph will return, and we shall find the means privately to inform him of all that has happened.  In the mean time let us be more cautious than ever, that she may not know I am alive.  I have already told you the consequences to be apprehended from such a discovery.”

At the end of three months the caliph returned to Bagdad with glory, having vanquished all his enemies.  He entered the palace with impatience to embrace Fetnah; but was amazed to see all the officers in mourning; and his concern was redoubled when, approaching the apartment of Zobeide, he beheld that princess coming to meet him in mourning with all her women.  He immediately asked her the cause, with much agitation.  “Commander of the believers,” answered Zobeide, “I am in mourning for your slave Fetnah; who died so suddenly that it was impossible to apply any remedy to her disorder.”  She would have proceeded, but the caliph did not give her time, being so agitated at the news, that he uttered a feeble exclamation, and fainted.  On recovering himself, he, with a feeble voice, which sufficiently expressed his extreme grief, asked where his dear Fetnah had been buried.  “Sir,” said Zobeide, “I myself took care of her funeral, and spared no cost to make it magnificent.  I have caused a marble mausoleum to be built over her grave, and will attend you thither if you desire.”

The caliph would not permit Zobeide to take that trouble, but contented himself to have Mesrour to conduct him.  He went thither just as he was, in his camp dress.  When he saw the tomb, the wax-lights round it, and the magnificence of the mausoleum, he was amazed that Zobeide should have performed the obsequies of her rival with so much pomp; and being naturally of a jealous temper, suspected his wife’s generosity and fancied his mistress might perhaps be yet alive; that Zobeide, taking advantage of his long absence, might have turned her out of the palace, ordering those she had entrusted to conduct her, to convey her so far off that she might never more be heard of.  This was all he suspected; for he did not think Zobeide wicked enough to have attempted the life of his favourite.