“Compose yourself， O my son，” said the Tisroc. “For the departure of guests makes a wound that is easily healed in the heart of a judicious host.”
“But I want her，” cried the Prince. “I must have her. I shall die if I do not get her.false， proud， black.hearted daughter of a dog that she is！ I cannot sleep and my food has no savour and my eyes are darkened because of her beauty. I must have the barbarian queen.”
“How well it was said by a gifted poet，” observed the Vizier， raising his face （in a somewhat dusty condition） from the carpet， “that deep draughts from the fountain of reason are desirable in order to extinguish the fire of youthful love.”
This seemed to exasperate the Prince. “Dog，” he shouted， directing a series of well.aimed kicks at the hindquarters of the Vizier， “do not dare to quote the poets to me. I have had maxims and verses flung at me all day and I can endurethem no more.” I am afraid Aravis did not feel at all sorry for the Vizier.
The Tisroc was apparently sunk in thought， but when， after a long pause， he noticed what was happening， he said tranquilly：
