you met yesterday; I was hieing me to the bath in my litter, and as the heat was stifling, I had put up my veil. But you did see amiss, and I am not as beautiful as you say."
As she said these words she put aside her veil and disclosed a face radiant with beauty, and so perfect that Envy herself could not have discovered in it the least defect.
The reader may imagine what were Mahmoud-Ben-Ahmed's transports upon receiving such a mark of favor; he overwhelmed the fair one with compliments, and, which is a rare thing with compliments, they all had the merit of being truthful and devoid of exaggeration. As he proceeded, infusing great fire and animation into his words, the scroll upon which his verses were transcribed escaped from his sleeve and rolled upon the floor.
"What is that scroll?" said the lady. "The writing appears to me of passing elegance, and tells of a skilled hand."
"It is a copy of verses," the young man made answer, blushing deeply, "that I did compose last night, being unable to slumber. I have essayed in them to do honor to your transcendent charms, but the copy is far inferior to the original, and my verse has not the brilliancy that it should have worthily to describe the brilliancy of your eyes."
The young lady read the verses attentively, and placing them in her belt, said:
"Though they contain many flatteries, they are truly not ill turned."
Thereupon she arranged her veil and left the shop negligently letting fall these words, with an ac-
