"Le mieux," says a French proverb, "est l'ennemi
du bien," and, in mentioning that Scheherazade had inherited the seven
baskets of talk, I should have added that she put them out at compound
interest until they amounted to seventy-seven.
"My dear sister," said she, on the thousand-and-second night, (I
quote the language of the "Isitsoornot" at this point, verbatim) "my
dear sister," said she, "now that all this little difficulty about the
bowstring has blown over, and that this odious tax is so happily
repealed, I feel that I have been guilty of great indiscretion in
withholding from you and the king (who I am sorry to say, snores- a
thing no gentleman would do) the full conclusion of Sinbad the sailor.
This person went through numerous other and more interesting
adventures than those which I related; but the truth is, I felt sleepy
on the particular night of their narration, and so was seduced into
cutting them short- a grievous piece of misconduct, for which I only
trust that Allah will forgive me. But even yet it is not too late to
remedy my great neglect- and as soon as I have given the king a
pinch or two in order to wake him up so far that he may stop making
that horrible noise, I will forthwith entertain you (and him if he
pleases) with the sequel of this very remarkable story.
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