Death has humbled me.

My brother Foorgat Bey--may flowers bloom for ever on his grave!--he is dead,"-- his eyes were fixed on those of David, as with a perfectly assured candour--"and my heart is like an empty house.

But man must not be idle and live--if Kaid lets me live.

I have riches.

Are not Foorgat's riches mine, his Palace, his gardens, his cattle, and his plantations, are they not mine?
I may sit in the court-yard and hear the singers, may listen to the tale-tellers by the light of the moon; I may hear the tales of Al-Raschid chanted by one whose tongue never falters, and whose voice is like music; after the manner of the East I may give bread and meat to the poor at sunset; I may call the dancers to the feast.