In this masquerade dress, she walked up and down her apartments, as a professor of the royal college waiting for his scholars. She affected even to the gloomy pensive physiognomy of a learned man in meditation. Mirzoza did not hold this forced gravity long. The Sultan entered with some of his courtiers, and made a low bow to the new philosopher; whose gravity disconcerted her audience, and was in its turn disconcerted by the loud laughter it occasioned. “Madam,” said Mangogul, “have you not advantage enough by your wit and figure, without taking the robe to your aid? without which your words would have all the weight that you could have desired.”

“It seems to me, sir,” answered Mirzoza, “that you do not much respect this robe, and that a disciple should pay more regard to what constitutes half the merit at least of his master.”

“I perceive,” replied the Sultan, “that you have already acquired the spirit and tone of your new condition. I make no doubt at present, but your capacity answers to the dignity of your dress, and I impatiently expect a proof of it.”