"Is this," continued Zobeida, growing more angry every moment, "is this
the return you make for the hospitality I have shown you? Have you
forgotten the one condition on which you were allowed to enter the
house? Come quickly," she added, clapping her hands three times, and
the words were hardly uttered when seven black slaves, each armed with
a sabre, burst in and stood over the seven men, throwing them on the
ground, and preparing themselves, on a sign from their mistress, to cut
off their heads.
The seven culprits all thought their last hour had come, and the Caliph
repented bitterly that he had not taken the vizir's advice. But they
made up their minds to die bravely, all except the porter, who loudly
inquired of Zobeida why he was to suffer for other people's faults, and
declared that these misfortunes would never have happened if it had not
been for the Calenders, who always brought ill-luck. He ended by
imploring Zobeida not to confound the innocent with the guilty and to
spare his life.
In spite of her anger, there was something so comic in the groans of
the porter that Zobeida could not refrain from laughing. But putting
him aside she addressed the others a second time, saying, "Answer me;
who are you? Unless you tell me truly you have not another moment to
live. I can hardly think you are men of any position, whatever country
you belong to. If you were, you would have had more consideration for
us."