’Tis easy to guess, whence proceeded the indiscreet voice, which pronounced this answer. Poor Ifec, being put out of countenance, grew pale, trembled, fainted. “Madam is subject to the vapors,” said Mangogul with an air of tranquillity: “let her be carried into an apartment of the Seraglio, and be taken care of.” Then immediately addressing Phenice: “Madam,” said he, “was not your husband a Pacha?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Phenice in a trembling voice. “And how have you lost him?”

“Sir, he died in his bed, quite exhausted with the fatigues of the last campaign⁠—”

“With the fatigues of the last campaign,” replied Phenice’s Toy. “Go, madam, your husband brought a firm and vigorous state of health from the camp; and he would still enjoy it, had not two or three scoundrel players⁠—you understand me, take care of yourself.”

“Write,” says the Sultan, “that Phenice demands a pension, for the good services, which she has rendered to the state and her husband.”