"The princess Ayesha herself, now, might send me her blackamoor in his yellow damask robe with the selam of love; I would refuse to follow him."
"Do you mean it?" said Leila, in a voice more melodious than that of Bulbul telling his tale of love to his dear rose. "And yet it won't do to be too scornful toward that poor Ayesha, who is so like me."
The only answer that Mahmoud-Ben-Ahmed made was to press the young slave to his heart. Imagine his astonishment, though, when he beheld a gentle light emanating from Leila's face, the magic ruby glittering upon her brow, and wings, shot with the hues of the peacock, sprouting from her lovely shoulders! Leila was a peri!
"Dear Mahmoud-Ben-Ahmed, I am not the princess Ayesha, neither am I Leila, the slave. My true name is Boudroulboudour. I am a peri of the highest rank, as you may see by my ruby and my wings. As I was passing through the air one night, over your terrace, I heard you express the wish that you might be loved by a peri. The daring aspiration pleased me; ignorant, vulgar mortals, abandoned to terrestrial pleasures, are not visited by such dreams of rare delights. I determined to make trial of you, and I assumed the disguise of Ayesha and of Leila to see if you would recognize me and love me in my human garb. Your heart was more clear-sighted than your mind and your goodness was stronger than your vanity. The devotedness of the slave made you prefer her above the sultana; it was what I wished to see you do. At one time I was seduced by the beauty of your verse and was on the point of betraying myself, but I feared that you were but a poet enamored of
