On a bed of gold, Mirza was reclining, and as he approached she arose and exclaimed:
"Who has dared enter my palace?"
"Powerful princess," said the young man, "I am your slave. Do with me as you will."
"Who are you?" she cried.
"The king of all this country—the most unfortunate of men since I have seen you."
At these words the young girl smiled, and from her lips fell a rose. She took a few steps forward, and precious stones covered the carpet where she walked.
"What do I see?" exclaimed the prince, filled with astonishment. "Are you not Mirza, my affianced?"
"Yes," cried the happy girl, "I am Mirza, who loves you; I am Mirza, whose hand you demanded in marriage through an ambassador."
At the remembrance of her misfortunes tears shone in her eyes, and pearls fell therefrom.