Here the vizier took the caliph aside, and whispered to him, “The night will soon be at an end, and if your majesty will only be pleased to have so much patience, I will to-morrow morning bring these ladies before your throne, where you may be informed of all that you desire to know.”  Though this advice was very judicious, the caliph rejected it, desired the vizier to hold his tongue, and said, he would not wait so long, but would immediately have his curiosity satisfied.

The next business was to settle who should carry the message.  The caliph endeavoured to prevail with the calenders to speak first; but they excused themselves, and at last they agreed that the porter should be the man:  as they were consulting how to word this fatal question, Zobeide returned from her sister Amene, who was recovered of her fit.  She drew near them, and having overheard them speaking pretty loud, said, “Gentlemen, what is the subject of your conversation?  What are you disputing about?”

The porter answered immediately, “Madam, these gentlemen beseech you to inform them why you wept over your two bitches after you had whipped them so severely, and how the bosom of that lady who lately fainted away came to be so full of scars?  These are the questions I am ordered to ask in their name.”

At these words, Zobeide put on a stern countenance, and turning towards the caliph and the rest of the company, “Is it true, gentlemen,” said she, “that you desired him to ask me these questions?” All of them, except the vizier Jaaffier, who spoke not a word, answered, “Yes.”  On which she exclaimed, in a tone that sufficiently expressed her resentment, “Before we granted you the favour of receiving you into our house, and to prevent all occasion of trouble from you, because we are alone, we imposed the condition that you should not speak of any thing that did not concern you, lest you might hear that which would not please you; and yet after having received and entertained you, you make no scruple to break your promise.  It is true that our easy temper has occasioned this, but that shall not excuse your rudeness.”  As she spoke these words, she gave three stamps with her foot, and clapping her hands as often together, cried, “Come quickly:”  upon this, a door flew open, and seven black slaves rushed in; every one seized a man, threw him on the ground, and dragged him into the middle of the room, brandishing a cimeter over his head.

We may easily conceive the caliph then repented, but too late, that he had not taken the advice of his vizier, who, with Mesrour, the calenders and porter, was from his ill-timed curiosity on the point of forfeiting his life.  Before they would strike the fatal blow, one of the slaves said to Zobeide, and her sisters:  “High, mighty, and adorable mistresses, do you command us to strike off their heads?” “Stay,” said Zobeide, “I must examine them first.”  The frightened porter interrupted her thus:  “In