The whole of these transactions, which passed under his own eyes, caused many reflections in the king’s mind. “How absurd,” said he, “to think, that my misfortune is singular and uncommon! It is the inevitable destiny of all husbands, since even the sultan, my brother, the sovereign of so many states, the greatest monarch in the world, cannot avoid it. What weakness then in me to be thus affected at my own lot, and remain a prey to melancholy: it shall be so no longer. The recollection of a misfortune so common to all men, shall vex me no more, nor disturb my repose.” In short, from this moment, he ceased to repine. He had delayed going to supper till the whole of this extraordinary scene was over; he then ordered it to be brought, and eat with a better appetite than he had before done since his departure from Samarcand, and even enjoyed a fine concert that was performed during the repast. From this time he resumed his former good humour, and when he heard of the sultan’s return, he went and paid his respects to him, with an air of gaiety and satisfaction. Schahriar, at first, took no notice of this change. He thought only of hinting at the refusal of his brother to accompany him to the chase; and without allowing him time to reply, he gave him an account of the great number of stags and other animals they had hunted, and the pleasure it had afforded. Schahzenan, having listened with great attention, took his turn to speak. As melancholy or chagrin no longer clouded his mind, his natural vivacity and wit became apparent in a thousand lively sallies. The sultan, who expected to find him in the same state in which he left him, was delighted with his gaiety. “I thank heaven, my brother,” he cried, “for the happy change which has taken place during my absence. I am indeed truly rejoiced at it; but I have one favor to request, that I trust you will not refuse me.”--“What can I refuse you,” replied Schahzenan, “you may command me in every thing. Speak; I am impatient to know what you wish of me.” --“Since you have been at my court,” resumed the sultan, “I have only seen you a prey to the most gloomy melancholy, which I have tried, but in vain, to dissipate by every species of amusement in my power. I thought that your grief might arise from the distance you were from your kingdom; I imagined, also, that love might have its share, and that the queen of Samarcand, whom you had selected for her incomparable beauty, was partly the cause. I know not whether my conjectures were right or wrong, and it was for this very reason, and from the fear of displeasing you, that I did not importune you. Soon after, without my having in the least contributed to it, I find you, on my return from a hunting party, in the highest spirits; your mind quite free from that dark cloud which hung over it, and prevented all enjoyment. Tell me then, I intreat you, why you were so melancholy, and why you are so no longer?”