Say forty thousand sequins for my
STOKH and let me depart in Allah's name. Who will give forty thousand
sequins to become the godson of such a healthy mother?" And he again
fell to capering and dancing, but not as gayly as before, for his heart
was troubled. The merchants, however, only moved farther away. "Thirty
thousand sequins," cried Prince BADFELLAH; but even as he spoke they
fled before his face, crying: "His godmother is dead. Lo, the jackals
are defiling her grave. Mashalla! he has no godmother." And they sought
out PANIK, the swift-footed messenger, and bade him shout through the
bazaars that the godmother of Prince BADFELLAH was dead. When he heard
this, the prince fell upon his face, and rent his garments, and covered
himself with the dust of the market-place. As he was sitting thus, a
porter passed him with jars of wine on his shoulders, and the prince
begged him to give him a jar, for he was exceeding thirsty and faint.
But the porter said, "What will my lord give me first?" And the prince,
in very bitterness of spirit, said, "Take this," and handed him his
STOKH, and so exchanged it for a jar of wine.

Now the Prince BULLEBOYE was of a very different disposition. When he
received the message of SOOPAH INTENDENT he bowed his head, and said,
"It is the will of God." Then he rose; and without speaking a word
entered the gates of his palace. But his wife, the peerless MAREE
JAHANN, perceiving the gravity of his countenance, said, "Why is my
lord cast down and silent? Why are those rare and priceless pearls,
his words, shut up so tightly between those gorgeous oyster-shells, his
lips?" But to this he made no reply. Thinking further to divert him,
she brought her lute into the chamber and stood before him, and sang
the song and danced the dance of BEN KOTTON, which is called IBRAHIM's
DAUGHTER, but she could not lift the veil of sadness from his brow.

When she had ceased, the Prince BULLEBOYE arose and said, "Allah is
great, and what am I, his servant, but the dust of the earth! Lo, this
day has my godmother sickened unto death, and my STOKH become as a
withered palm-leaf. Call hither my servants and camel-drivers, and the
merchants that have furnished me with stuffs, and the beggars who have
feasted at my table, and bid them take all that is here, for it is mine
no longer!" With these words he buried his face in his mantle and wept
aloud.

But MAREE JAHANN, his wife, plucked him by the sleeve. "Prithee, my