through which they passed, brilliant carpets of all colors adorned the
houses, and the people praised God and His Prophets for sending them so
beautiful a prince. All this filled the heart of the tailor with
delight; but all the more unhappy did the real Omar feel, who, still
bound, followed the caravan in silent despair. In the universal joy
nobody troubled themselves about him who should have been the recipient
of their welcome. Thousands upon thousands shouted the name of Omar,
but he who rightly bore this name was noticed not at all. At the most,
one and another would ask who it was that was bound so securely; and
the reply of his escort, that it was a crazy tailor, echoed horribly in
his ears.

The caravan at last reached the capital of the sultan, where a still
more brilliant reception was awaiting them. The sultana, an elderly,
venerable lady, awaited them with the entire court, in the splendid
hall of the palace. The floor of this salon was covered with an immense
carpet, the walls were tastefully adorned with a light-blue cloth, hung
from great silver hooks with golden tassels and cords.

It was already night when the caravan arrived; therefore numerous round
colored lamps were lighted in the salon, making it light as day. But
the most lights were placed at the farther end of the salon, where the
sultana sat upon a throne. The throne stood upon a dais, and was inlaid
with pure gold, and set with large amethysts. Four of the most
distinguished emirs held a canopy over the sultana's head, while the
Sheik of Medina fanned her with a fan of peacock's feathers.

Under these surroundings, the sultana awaited her husband and her son.
She had not seen her son since his birth, but the longed-for son had
appeared in her dreams, so that she felt sure of knowing him amongst a
thousand. Now the noise of the approaching caravan was heard, trumpets
and drums mingled with the cheers of the crowd; the hoofs of the horses
beat in the court of the palace; nearer and nearer sounded the steps of
the expected ones; the doors of the salon flew open, and through the
rows of prostrate servants, the sultan hastened to the throne of the
sultana, leading his son by the hand.

"Here," said he, "I bring you the one for whom you have so long
yearned."

But the sultana interrupted him with: "That is not my son! Those are
not the features that the Prophet showed me in my dreams!"

Just as the sultan was about to upbraid her for her unbel