“Pray, why not, Sir?” replied the favorite. “There is no malice of this sort, of which Selim has not been capable: and if he has concealed the adventure which you have discovered, possibly it is, that he is reconciled to this Toy, that they are well together, and that he thought he might keep that peccadillo from me, without swerving from his promise.”

“The perpetual falsity of your conjectures,” replied Mangogul, “ought to cure you of the disease of ever making any. There is nothing of what you imagine in the affair: it is one of the first flights of Selim’s youthful days. It regards one of those women, who are gained in a minute, but are never kept long.”

“Madam,” says Selim to the favorite, “in vain do I examine my self, I can recal nothing more to my memory; and at present I find my conscience quite clear.”

“Olympia,” says Mangogul⁠—

“Ah! Prince,” interrupted Selim, “I know the thing; but this little story is so old, that it is no wonder that it has escaped me.”