At the house of the Frank physician, while Shems-ud-dìn remained in the sick room, Zeyd was accustomed to sit with Mâs and Ismaìl the doorkeeper in the little court. But the two old negroes were not instructive; their happiness consisted in holding one another’s hand and smiling foolishly. Zeyd’s mind, apt to wander from such converse, hung in danger from the charms of a barefaced serving woman, who kept crossing and recrossing the court—of set purpose, he supposed, to entice him. Only by the mercy of Allah did he escape the daily snare of her. As the companion of a great saint, he had taken the pilgrim’s vow of total abstinence. On an evening when Zeyd sat thus resisting temptation in the company of old Mâs (the doorkeeper having gone forth to drink the air and display a new garment, gift of the Frank his master), Shems-ud-dìn came down from the place of sickness, showing a countenance far brighter than he was wont to bear. The two arose and, bowing, put their question; to which he replied: “The praise to Allah! This morning I dared not rejoice, but this evening, seeing the improvement still maintained, I render thanks to God. Come, O Zeyd, O Mâs, walk with me a little in the streets of the city. Let us view the much merchandise and the throng of men, for my soul is glad within me.” Upon that Mâs, seeing his master’s soul at ease, ventured upon a petition he had long borne it in his mind to make. Stooping, he touched the hem of Shems-ud-dìn’s robe, then kissed the hand which had touched it. He exclaimed: “Deign to hear me, O my lord! I ask a favor—a small thing, far beneath thee. There dwell here in the city many poor men, servants, black like me. These meet together privately to be judged of their sheykh, who is no other than Ismaìl, the doorkeeper at this house. They seek the right, but as the street dogs seek, whom no man stoops to feed. Their prayer is through me unto thee, O my master, that thou wilt grant them a little instruction. This is the Day of Assembly, when they meet always toward sunset. Vouchsafe to honor them, and I, thy slave, will guide thee to the place.” “With pleasure and alacrity,” replied Shems-ud-dìn, and the teeth of the negro gleamed forth in satisfaction. Forthwith, at his accustomed mooning pace, Mâs set about his preparations. From out a vault, whereof the door stood open, he produced a lantern, which he opened to be sure the candle was not spent. He put a box of Frankish matches within the frame, shut to the glass, and, taking a staff that leaned against the wall, smiled of readiness. Zeyd, with Shems-ud-dìn, followed him out into the streets, where forms moved vaguely in rich lights and shadows, like the concourse of a dream.