So Habeeb, having been summoned, found his master sitting alone where we last left him, reclining against his pillow in the small room before described, and saw, at a glance, that his spirit was troubled. Having made his obeisance, which was not acknowledged, or barely so, the barber at once set to work, removing the conical lambskin cap which Jehándar Beg always wore, and subjecting the whole scalp to a series of manipulations which were inexpressibly soothing. How lightly moved the practised fingers along lines of muscles and nerves! how carefully was every stray hair put back into its proper place, or deftly eradicated with the sharp tweezers. Then, as the momentous matters of eyebrows, moustache, and beard were severally approached, and where the Kótwal's rough hand had rubbed his chin, pushed up the moustache, or disturbed the eyebrows--till every hair seemed battling with its neighbour or bristling in anger--all was soon reduced to order, and the cap replaced. Jehándar Beg felt a refreshing coolness pervade his head, the nervous excitement was removed, and a calmness supervened which he required for what he had to do. Yes, a master in his art! Habeeb had made a masterly performance; and yet so quickly!--long enough, however, for those much-coveted papers to be taken far from his master's chance of possession to a place of safety. "Shookr, Shookr, Habeeb!" (Thanks, thanks!), said the Kótwal at length. "Hast thou any news, friend?" What was the barber to say? News? yes, plenty! There was no lack of that, such as his master relished; but would it be welcome? "There was a grand entertainment at the Nawab Alla-ool-Moolk's last night, and some new singers from the Carnatic were there. My lord should hear one of them. She is very lovely," he replied cautiously. "Except the blessed Mary, and Fáthma, and Ayésha--on whose names be peace!--I wish all women were in the burning pit," said Jehándar Beg savagely, and his hand approached his beard. "Khóda na khasta bashud!" (God forbid!), exclaimed Habeeb, staying it. "God forbid my lord should touch what has been done! Even in that exclamation a hundred hairs have started up. May his slave ask what has discomposed the fountain of justice this morning?" "There was some one ill in the palace last night, and a Fakeer was sent for, who shouted 'Ulla dilâyâ to léonga,' Who was that man? and who was ill?" asked Jehándar Beg, not heeding the question. "My lord, no one was ill that I know of. About the Fakeer I will ascertain, if possible," replied the barber. "I can tell my lord one thing, however: the Shah--may his splendour increase--went out, even as the Khaleefa, of honoured memory, of whom we read--Haroun bin-al Rasheed--was in the habit of doing, to see after his subjects for himself, to hear with his own ears; and, if people say the truth, there is enough for him to hear, if he chose to inquire." The men understood each other perfectly, and exchanged glances.