of my life?"

"Alas!" said Eloubrou, "who shall tell the dismal tale to thy tender
heart?"

"Ah!" said I, "is my beloved mother no more? Is she gone to seek her
disobedient daughter over the burning lake?"

At these words my spirit failed, and I sank motionless to the ground.
But my lord must forgive me if I hasten over the dreadful scene that
followed. The report of Eloubrou was too true: Chederazade, the
dearest Chederazade, had been ten days dead when I was restored to my
father's palace; and Zebenezer, distracted at the double loss of his
consort and his child, had shut himself up in the tomb of my mother.

Eloubrou hastened to the tomb wherein my father poured forth his
tears, and acquainted the guards who watched without that I was
returned.

The sorrowful Zebenezer, although he was rejoiced at the news,
resolved not to come forth out of his consort's tomb till the month
was expired, according to his oath; and gave orders, that during that
interval I should be obeyed by his subjects.

My mourning was not less poignant than my royal father's. I shut
myself up in my apartments, and would suffer none but Eloubrou to see
me.

Nine days passed in silence; our loss affected both, and Eloubrou was
as little disposed as myself to forget the cause of her griefs. On the
tenth morning, Eloubrou was called out by the Grand Vizier, who then
had the command of my father's kingdom.

She returned in haste. "Princess of Cassimir," said she, "one who
calleth himself Mahoud inquires for thee; and the Grand Vizier,
understanding that he was instrumental in your release, waits without
to know your will."

At the name of Mahoud I started from my reverie. "Mahoud," said I, "O
Eloubrou! deserves my notice; and the son of the jeweller of Delhi
shall be rewarded for his services to your mistress."

"Alas!" answered Eloubrou, "my lovely mistress is distracted with
sorrows, and supposes the Prince Mahoud to be the offspring of a
slave!"

"If he be a Prince," answered I, "he has hitherto concealed his
circumstances and birth from me, or he is not that Mahoud whom I
remember in the deserts of Tarapajan."

"That," answered Eloubrou, "you will soon discover when you see him.
But," continued she, "he desires a private audience."

"Well, then," replied I, "introduce him, Eloubrou; but let my slaves
be ready to enter at my call."

Eloubrou obeyed, and brought the merchant Mahoud into my presence, and
then retired.

Mahoud fel