When the magician had after this manner informed himself of his brother’s fate, he lost no time in useless regret, which could not restore him to life again; but resolving immediately to revenge his death, he took horse, and set forwards for China: where, after crossing plains, rivers, mountains, deserts, and a long tract of country without stopping, he arrived after incredible fatigues. When he came to the capital of China, which his knowledge of geomancy pointed out to him, and being certain he had not mistaken any other kingdom for it, he took a lodging. The next day he went out, and walked through the town, not so much to observe the beauties, which were indifferent to him, but with an intention to take proper measures to execute his pernicious designs. He introduced himself into the most frequented places, where he listened to everybody’s discourse. In a place where people resorted to divert themselves with all sorts of games, and where some are conversing while others play, he heard some persons talk of the virtue and piety of a woman called Fatima, who had retired from the world, and of the miracles she performed. As he fancied that this woman might be serviceable to him in the project he had in his head, he took one of the company aside, and desired him to tell him more particularly who that holy woman was, and what sort of miracles she performed. “What!” said the person to whom he addressed himself, “have you never seen or heard talk of her? She is the admiration of the whole town, for her fasting, her austerities, and her exemplary life. Except Mondays and Fridays, she never stirs out of her little cell; and on those days on which she comes into the town, she does an infinite deal of good; for there is not a person who has the headache, but is cured by her laying her hand upon them.”