“Ah!” says Mangogul whispering to himself, “this Zaide has struck me: she pursues me, she occupies my thoughts; I must absolutely see her again.” Mirzoza interrupted him by some questions, which he answered in monosyllables. He refused a game of piquet which she proposed, complain’d of a headache which he counterfeited, retired to his apartment, went to bed without supping, which he had never done before, and had no sleep. The charms and tenderness of Zaide, the qualities and happiness of Zuleiman tormented him the whole night.