king by the
fountain in the cool shadow of the pink sandstone wall. And when she
saw that it was only the Rev. John Feathercock, her lord and master,
discoursing as usual with Mohammed-si-Koualdia, she went toward them
frankly but slowly.

When she was quite near she stopped, and from the light that played in
her deep black eyes you would have thought that surely she was
listening with the deepest attention. But the truth is that with all
her little brain, with all her mouth, and with all her stomach, she was
craving the yellow and odorous pulp of a melon which had been cut open
and put on the table near two tall glasses half filled with snowy
sherbet. For Zobeide was a turtle of the ordinary kind found in the
grass of all the meadows around the city of Damascus.

As she waited, Mohammed continued his story:

"And, as I tell you, O reverend one abounding in virtues, this lion
which still lives near Tabariat, was formerly a strong lion, a
wonderful lion, a lion among lions! To-day, even, he can strike a camel
dead with one blow of his paw, and then, plunging his fangs into the
spine of the dead animal, toss it upon his shoulders with a single
movement of his neck. But unfortunately, having one day brought down a
goat in the chase by simply blowing upon it the breath of his nostrils,
the lion was inflated with pride and cried: 'There is no god but God,
but I am as strong as God. Let him acknowledge it!' Allah, who heard
him, Allah, the All-powerful, said in a loud voice, 'O lion of
Tabariat, try now to carry off thy prey!' Then the lion planted his
great teeth firmly in the spine of the animal, right under the ears,
and attempted to throw it on his back. Onallahi! It was as though he
had tried to lift Mount Libanus, and his right leg fell lamed to the
ground. And the voice of Allah still held him, declaring: 'Lion,
nevermore shalt thou kill a goat!' And it has remained thus to this
day: the lion of Tabariat has still all his old-time power to carry off
camels, but he can never do the slightest harm to even a new-born kid.
The goats of the flocks dance in front of him at night, deriding him to
his face, and always from that moment his right leg has been stiff and
lame."

"Mohammed," said the Rev. Mr. Feathercock contemptuously, "these are
stories fit only for babies."

"How, then!" replied Mohammed-si-Koualdia. "Do you refuse to believe
that God is able to do whatever he may wish, that the world itself is
but a perp