fil an engagement with the French minister, and to engage a band
of music for an entertainment at which Prince Schearazade is expected to
be present. Wait patiently for her return, then confront her boldly,
upbraid her, toss this liquor in her eyes, and then you shall see what
you shall see.'

Sid Norman went to his late home, which was in the West End, the Fifth
Avenue of Bagdad. He opened the door, but silence prevailed. Costly
silks, and many extravagant and superfluous things, lay strewn about. He
sat down in a rocking-chair and gazed at a full-length portrait of the
Haroun Alraschid.

About noon the lady came in, with six shop clerks after her, bearing
packages, tossed off her head-dress, and flung herself inanimately on
the sofa.

'Ahem,' grunted Sid Norman, who was concealed in the shadow of an
alcove.

Amina looked up. Furies! what an appalling rencontre! She looked as pale
as the corpses which she adored; she would have shrieked, but had no
more voice than a ghost; she would have fled, but was riveted as with
the gaze of a basilisk.

'Dear,' said Sid Norman, with an uxorious smile, 'what ails you? Has the
fast of Kamazan begun? Hardly yet, for this looks more like the
carnival. How much gave you for this Cashmere, my love?'

A great sculptor was Sid Norman, for, without lifting a hand, or using
any other tool than a keen eye and a sharp tongue, he had wrought out
before him, carved as in cold marble, the statue of a beautiful, bad
woman. Such is genius. Such is conscience!

'Mrs. Amina Sidi Ghoul Norman,' proceeded the husband, giving his wife
time to relax a little from her rigor, 'is dinner ready? We want nothing
but a little rice. Set on only two plates, a knife and fork for me, and
a _bodkin_ for you, if you please, madam.'

(_A symptom of hysterics, checked by a nightmare inability of action_.)

'Have you nothing to say? Is thy servant a dog? Why have you wrought
this deviltry? Take that.'

Therewith he flung some liquid in her face, and the late fashionable
lady of Bagdad became a mare. Sid seized a cow-skin, and laid on with a
will.

'You may now cut up as many capers as you please,' said he, reining her
in with a bit and bridle, and cutting her with the whip until the blood
rolled. 'To-morrow you may go to grass in the graveyard.'

Every day he made a practice of lashing her around the square, if
possible, to get the devil out of her. When the Caliph Haroun Alraschid
learned the true cau