The Queen, unaccustomed to such language from her affectionate son, now wept more bitterly than ever, and persevered in her lamentations and reproaches so long that the Dervise became alarmed at having thus inconsiderately assumed his natural character, and sought to make the matter up. But he had gone too far, and all his endeavours were now in vain. “Well, well,” he suddenly exclaimed, as a last resource, “I will do what I can to lighten your grief. Every morning your nightingale shall come to life again, and sing as much as you please.”
The queen looked at him with an air of surprise, and did not conceal her doubts. In fact she fancied her son had suddenly run mad.
“What I have promised you,” insisted the Dervise, “shall be done, were it only to convince you that mine are no empty words.”
So forthwith he laid himself down upon the sofa and sent his soul into the nightingale, which to the no small astonishment of the Queen, began to flutter about and sing as exquisitely as before.
The real king in the form of the dog was a spectator of this scene; and availed himself of this opportunity to take possession of his own body, which he did the moment the wily Dervise left it. He then sprang off the sofa, ran to the cage and seizing the nightingale by the neck wrung it till it was dead.
