"When you arrived here did you not sit down on the ground?" asked the
genius, "and did you not take some dates from your wallet, and whilst
eating them did not you throw the stones about?"
"Yes," said the merchant, "I certainly did so."
"Then," said the genius, "I tell you you have killed my son, for whilst
you were throwing about the stones, my son passed by, and one of them
struck him in the eye and killed him. So I shall kill you."
"Ah, sir, forgive me!" cried the merchant.
"I will have no mercy on you," answered the genius.
"But I killed your son quite unintentionally, so I implore you to spare
my life."
"No," said the genius, "I shall kill you as you killed my son," and so
saying, he seized the merchant by the arm, threw him on the ground, and
lifted his sabre to cut off his head.
The merchant, protesting his innocence, bewailed his wife and children,
and tried pitifully to avert his fate. The genius, with his raised
scimitar, waited till he had finished, but was not in the least touched.
Scheherazade, at this point, seeing that it was day, and knowing that
the Sultan always rose very early to attend the council, stopped
speaking.
"Indeed, sister," said Dinarzade, "this is a wonderful story."
"The rest is still more wonderful," replied Scheherazade, "and you
would say so, if the sultan would allow me to live another day, and
would give me leave to tell it to you the next night."
Schahriar, who had been listening to Scheherazade with pleasure, said
to himself, "I will wait till to-morrow; I can always have her killed
when I have heard the end of her story."