Annoyed at his merriment, Jasmine told him breathlessly of the marvellous purse. Her husband laughed and laughed, partly at her story, partly at her absurd appearance. He laughed until he got hiccoughs.
“Oh, how funny! How funny! What has come over you?” he cried, rolling on the floor.
“This is no jest, Anselm, I swear; it is the solemn truth. Just look inside and you will see all the golden coins.”
Incredulously Anselm peered into the bulging purse. He rubbed his eyes. Slowly his unbelief gave way to amazed joy.
“Praise be to God!” he cried at last. “We’re rich, rich, rich beyond the dreams of man. Give it to me that I may go and buy gorgeous apparel, fine horses, and rarest wines.” Feverishly he snatched the purse from his wife’s hand.
“What’s this?” he cried. “I knew it was some trickery. Your precious purse is as empty as an egg that has been eaten.” And in truth, the tasselled bag now dangled from his hand flat and light as a leaf.
“Oh!” screamed Jasmine, in dismay, “give it back to me!” No sooner had she touched the purse than once more it became rounded and heavy with the weight of a thousand guineas.
“Praise be to God!” she sighed. “I remember now. The woman from whom I bought it warned me that the guineas were only for my own use.”
“Tut, tut, that’s very troublesome,” said Anselm ruefully. “But what matter? You will be able to buy gifts for me. It will come to the same thing. But, wife, what mean you when you say you bought the purse? With what can one buy money?”
Jasmine told him of the weird house, the mysterious saleswoman and the strange bargain she had driven.