Unable to resolve either to share his treasure with his friend or to keep it for himself alone, he took the resolution of carefully concealing it in the chamber in which he slept, and of waiting until the agitation caused in his mind by so important an event should have somewhat subsided, to which end he hastened to secure his newly acquired possession.
"Reflection is no crime," said he. Consequently he gave himself time to reflect, instead of following the first impulse of his heart and remaining faithful to that devotion of friendship which had hitherto constituted his pride and glory, and which still bore the promise of so rich a harvest in the future.
He passed all his time then, extended during the heat of the day upon a mat by the side of his merchandise, and with closed eyes feigning to sleep, while in reality he was thinking of nothing but his treasure, and of what he ought to do with it.
Yousouf meanwhile, impressed with the idea that his friend was sleeping, took every care to guard his slumbers from interruption, thinking as he gently fanned his fevered brow of nothing but Mohammed, and what he could possibly invent to divert him and render him happy.
One day as Yousouf and Mohammed were reposing after their labours, an old hump-backed Jew with a sallow complexion and an enormous nose accosted Yousouf, saying:
"Was it not here that Nathan Cohen, the son of David, lived about two years since?"
"Speak low," replied Yousouf to the Jew. "My friend is asleep, and I would not that his slumbers should be disturbed."
The Jew seated himself on the edge of Yousouf's little counter, and repeated his inquiry, at the same time lowering the harsh and hollow tones of his voice.
"Yes, it was here that Nathan Cohen, the son of David, dwelt," replied the young Moor.
"Ah!" said the old Jew, working his large and flexible nostrils, "I was sure of it—that is why I scent gold hidden here."