Having concluded this doggerel, setting forth his stock-in-trade, the wizard stood with arms crossed, grinning widely.

“I have an enemy,” faltered the lady, “and she is dreadful, being a jinniyeh, and no child of Adam.”

“Think not to instruct me,” said the warlock. “Nothing uncanny comes to Masr, but my hosts of servants who are in the air inform me instantly. Ah, if it is the Englishwoman thou opposest, have a care, for she is full of art, having attained the secret of invisibility, of self-protection, and also of transforming people into dogs. Now, what, I ask, dost thou require of me exactly⁠—a potion that shall make her love thee, or her madness, or a wasting illness?”

“Nothing, nothing, save her instant death,” sobbed Fitnah⁠—“the wedding is today⁠—and then take all my wealth.”