persons he had brought with him to draw the noose; after which I asked him
how much his commission of strangling me might be worth. He replied, that
his fees would amount to about three hundred pieces of gold. I then
convinced him that he might gain more by staying with me. I made him an
inferior robber; and he is now one of my best and richest officers. If
thou wilt take my advice thy success may be equal to his; never was there
a better season for plunder, since King Moabdar is killed, and all Babylon
thrown into confusion."

"Moabdar killed!" said Zadig, "and what is become of Queen Astarte?"

"I know not," replied Arbogad. "All I know is, that Moabdar lost his
senses and was killed; that Babylon is a scene of disorder and bloodshed;
that all the empire is desolated; that there are some fine strokes to be
struck yet; and that, for my own part, I have struck some that are
admirable."

"But the queen," said Zadig; "for heaven's sake, knowest thou nothing of
the queen's fate?"

"Yes," replied he, "I have heard something of a prince of Hircania; if she
was not killed in the tumult, she is probably one of his concubines; but I
am much fonder of booty than news. I have taken several women in my
excursions; but I keep none of them. I sell them at a high price, when
they are beautiful, without inquiring who they are. In commodities of this
kind rank makes no difference, and a queen that is ugly will never find a
merchant. Perhaps I may have sold Queen Astarte; perhaps she is dead; but,
be it as it will, it is of little consequence to me, and I should imagine
of as little to thee." So saying he drank a large draught which threw all
his ideas into such confusion that Zadig could obtain no further
information.

Zadig remained for some time without speech, sense, or motion. Arbogad
continued drinking; told stories; constantly repeated that he was the
happiest man in the world; and exhorted Zadig to put himself in the same
condition. At last the soporiferous fumes of the wine lulled him into a
gentle repose.

Zadig passed the night in the most violent perturbation. "What," said he,
"did the king lose his senses? and is he killed? I cannot help lamenting
his fate. The empire is rent in pieces; and this robber is happy. O
fortune! O destiny! A robber is happy, and the most beautiful of nature's
works hath perhaps perished in a barbarous manner or lives in a state
worse than death. O Astarte! what is become of thee?"

At day