and those who partake thereof _are_ blessed."

And with that Mukhtar caught up both the odalisks in his arms, that he
might pronounce judgment as to the sweetness of their lips. It was an
enviable process. The contending parties themselves were in doubt as
to which of themselves should obtain a verdict. At length they called
upon Vely Bey to decide--Vely, who was now lying blissfully asleep
beside them on the divan, overcome with wine, his head in Xelianthe's
bosom. His two brethren awoke him that he might judge between them as
to the sweetness of rival kisses.

It took a good deal of trouble to make the stupidly fuddled Bey
understand what was required of him, and when he did understand, the
only answer he made was, "Xelianthe's kisses are the sweetest;" and
with that he embraced his favorite damsel once more and, reclining his
head on her bosom, went off to sleep again.

Then cried Mukhtar, "Wherefore dost thou ask for _his_ judgment, when
amongst us sits the Prophet himself? Let him judge between us."

With these words he pointed to the empty place which had been left for
a fourth person. Rich meats were piled up there on gold and silver
plate, and wine sparkled in transparent crystal.

"Come, Muhammad!" exclaimed Mukhtar, addressing the vacant place;
"thou in thy lifetime didst love many a beauteous woman, and in thy
Paradise there is enough and to spare of beauty. I summon thee to
appear before us. Here is a dispute between us two as to whose damsel
is the sweeter and the lovelier. Thou hast seen them dance, thou hast
heard them sing; now taste of their kisses!"

With that he beckoned to the two damsels, and they sat down, one on
each side of the empty divan, and made as if they were embracing a
shape sitting between them, and filled the air with their burning,
fragrant kisses.

"Well, let us hear thy verdict, Muhammad!" cried Mukhtar, with drunken
bravado; and, taking the crystal goblet from the empty place and
raising it in the air, looked around him with a flushed, defiant face,
and exclaimed, "Come! drink of the wine of this goblet her health to
whom thou awardest the prize!"

Ali Pasha, shocked and filled with horror at the shamelessly impudent
words he heard from his hiding-place, drew a pistol from his girdle
and softly raised the trigger.

"Drink, Muhammad!" bellowed Mukhtar, raising the goblet on high,
"drink to the health of the triumphant damsel! Which shall it be,
Rebecca or Lizza?"

At tha