The lovely Fetnah, though moved by the tenderness of the passion he expressed, yet prevailed with herself not to comply with it. My lord, said she to him, we cannot obstruct Zobeide’s triumphing. I am not at all surprised at the artifice she makes use of to conceal her guilt: but let her proceed; I flatter myself that sorrow will soon follow her triumph: the caliph will return, and we shall find means privately to inform him of all that has happened. In the mean time, let us be more cautious than ever, that she may not know I am alive. I have already told you the consequences. Three months after, the caliph returned to Bagdad with honour, having vanquished all his enemies: he entered the palace with impatience to see Fetnah, and to lay all his laurels at her feet; but was amazed to see all the servants he had left behind him in mourning. It struck him, without knowing the cause; and his concern was double, when, coming into the apartment of Zobeide, he spied that princess coming to meet him with all her women in mourning. He immediately asked her the cause of it, with much concern. Chief of the believers, answered Zobeide, I am in mourning for your slave Fetnah, who died so suddenly, that it was impossible to apply any medicine to her distemper. She would have proceeded, but the caliph did not give her time, being so surprised at the news, that he cried out, and then fell into a swoon in the arms of Giafar, his grand vizier, who attended him. Coming soon after to himself, he, with a weak voice, which sufficiently expressed his concern, asked where his dear Fetnah had been buried? Sir, said Zobeide, I took care myself of her funeral, and spared for no cost to make it magnificent. I have caused a marble mausoleum to be built over her grave, and will attend you thither, if you desire it. The caliph would not permit Zobeide to take that trouble, but was satisfied to have Mesrour to conduct him. He went thither just as he was, that is, in the camp dress. When he saw the figure covered with a black cloth, the lighted candles all about it, and the magnificence of the mausoleum, he was amazed that Zobeide should have performed the obsequies of her rival with so much magnificence; and, being naturally of a jealous temper, he suspected his wife’s generosity, and fancied his mistress might perhaps be yet alive; that Zobeide, taking the advantage of his long absence, might have turned her out of the palace, ordering those she had intrusted with it to convey her so far-off, that she might never more be heard of. This was all he suspected; for he did not think Zobeide wicked enough to have murdered his favourite.