A few days after my return, being in my shop, at the public place where all sorts of fine stuffs are sold, I saw a tall black slave enter, holding an apple in his hand, which I knew to be one of those I had brought from Balsora. I could have no doubts on the subject, for I knew that there were none in Bagdad, nor in any of the gardens in the environs. I called the slave, “My good slave,” said I, “pray tell me where you got that apple.”--“It is a present,” replied he, smiling, “that my mistress made me. I have been to see her to-day, and found her unwell. I saw three apples by her side, and asked her where she had got them; and she told me, that her good man of a husband had been a journey of fifteen days on purpose to get them for her. We breakfasted together, and when I came away I brought this with me.” This intelligence enraged me beyond measure. I got up, and having shut up my shop, I ran home eagerly, and went into the chamber of my wife. I looked for the apples, and seeing but two, I inquired what was become of the third. My wife then turning her head towards the side where the apples were, and perceiving that there were only two, replied coldly, “I do not know what is become of it, cousin.” This answer convinced me of the truth of what the slave had spoken. I suffered myself to be transported by a fit of jealousy, and drawing a knife, which hung from my girdle, I plunged it in the breast of this unhappy woman. I then cut off her head, and divided her body into quarters; I made a packet of it, which I concealed in a folding basket, and after having sewed the opening of the basket with some red worsted, I inclosed it in a chest, and as soon as it was night, carried it on my shoulders to the Tigris, where I threw it in. My two youngest children were in bed, and asleep; and the third was from home. On my return I found him sitting at the door, and weeping bitterly. I asked him the reason of his tears.--“Father,” said he, “this morning I took away from my mother, without her perceiving me, one of the three apples you brought her. I kept it some time, but as I was playing with it in the street, with my little brothers, a great black slave, who was passing, snatched it out of my hand, and took it away with him. I ran after him, asking him for it; I told him, that it belonged to my mother, who was ill, and that you had been a journey of fifteen days to procure it for her. All was useless, for he would not return it; and as I went on crying after him, he turned back and beat me, and then ran off as fast as he could through so many winding streets, that I lost sight of him. Since then I have been walking out of the city waiting for your return. I was staying here for you, father, to beg that you will not tell my mother, lest it should make her worse.” On finishing these words he redoubled his tears.