"I went back to Alexandria. Hatred of all human kind raged in my breast, but especially hatred of those nations which are called civilized. Believe me, I was better pleased with my Moslems. I had been in Alexandria only a few months, when it was invaded by my countrymen. I saw in them only the executioners of my father and brother; therefore I gathered some young people of my acquaintance, who entertained similar views, and joined the brave Mameluke, who became the terror of the French army. When the campaign was ended, I could not bring myself to return to the arts of peace. With a few friends of similar tendencies, I lived an unsettled fugitive life, devoted to battle and the chase. I live contentedly with these people, who honor me as their prince; for if my Asiatics are not so civilized as your Europeans, yet envy and slander, selfishness and ambition are not their characteristics." Zaleukos thanked the stranger for his communication, but he did not hide from him his opinion that it would be far better for one of his rank and culture, were he to live and work in Christian and European countries. He took the stranger's hand, and invited him to go with him, and to live and die with him. Zaleukos's guest was deeply moved. "From this I know," said he, "that you have entirely forgiven me, that you even love me. Receive my heartfelt thanks." He sprang up, and stood in all his majesty before the Greek, who shrank back at the warlike appearance, the dark glistening eyes, the deep mysterious voice of his guest. "Your proposal is good," continued he; "any other person might be persuaded; I can not accept it! My horse is saddled, my followers await me: farewell, Zaleukos!" The friends whom destiny had so strangely united, embraced each other before parting. "And what shall I call you? What is the name of my guest and friend who will live forever in my memory?" asked the Greek. The stranger gave him a parting look, pressed his hand once more, and replied: "They call me the ruler of the desert; I am _the Robber Orbasan_." PART II * * * * * TALES OF THE INN. THE INN IN THE SPESSART. Many years ago, while yet the roads in the Spessart were in poor condition and but little traveled, two young journeymen were making their way through this wooded region. The one might have been about eighteen years old, and was by trade a compass-maker; the other was a goldsmith, and, judging from his appearance, could not have been more than sixteen, and was most likely making his first journey out into the world.