God keep the commander of the faithful in the right use of his senses, replied Abon Hassan, still sighing and crying; you see how it is, and that I have not imposed upon his majesty; and I wish to heaven, continued he, to dissemble the better, that I had no occasion to tell him the melancholy and afflicting news. Alas! I cannot enough express my irreparable loss. That is true, replied Mesrour; and I can assure you, I have a great share in your affliction; but you must comfort, and not abandon yourself to your grief. I leave you against my will, to return to the caliph; but I beg the favour of you not to bury the corpse until I come again, for I will assist at the interment. Abon Hassan waited on him to the door, and told him that he did not deserve the honour that he did him; and for fear Mesrour should return to say something else to him, he followed him with his eyes for some time, and then returned to his wife, and unloosed her. This is already, said he, a new scene of mirth; but I fancy it will not be the last; for certainly the princess Zobeide will not believe Mesrour, but laugh at him, since she has too substantial a reason to the contrary; therefore we must expect some new event. Whilst Abon Hassan and Nouz-hatoul-aonadat were talking thus, she had time enough to put on her clothes again; and both went and sat down on a sofa, opposite to the window, where they could see all that passed. In the mean time, Mesrour reached Zobeide’s apartment, and going into her closet laughing, clapped his hands, like one who had something very agreeable to tell. The caliph, who was naturally impatient, would presently be informed of the truth of the matter; for he was piqued a little at the princess’s diffidence: therefore, as soon as he saw Mesrour, Vile slave, said he, is this a time to laugh? Why do you not tell me which is dead, the wife or the husband? Commander of the Faithful, answered Mesrour, putting on a serious countenance, it is Nouz-hatoul-aonadat who is dead; for the loss of whom Abon Hassan is as much afflicted as when he appeared before your majesty. The caliph, not giving him time to pursue his story, interrupted him, and cried out, laughing heartily, Good news; Zobeide was a moment ago mistress of the palace of paintings, which she staked against my garden of pleasures, since you went, and now it is mine; therefore thou couldst not have done me a greater pleasure: but give me a true account of what thou sawest.