The story of the False Prince

When the campaign was finished, I could not make up my mind to return to the peaceful arts. With my little band of congenial friends, I led a restless, careless life, devoted to the field and the chase. I live contented among this people, who honor me as their chief; for though my Asiatics are not quite so refined as your Europeans, yet are they far removed from envy and slander, from selfishness and ambition.”

Zaleukos thanked the stranger for his relation, but did not conceal from him, that he would find things better suited to his rank and education, if he would live and work in Christian, in European lands. With delight his companion looked upon him.

“I know by this,” said he, “that you have entirely forgiven me, that you love me: receive, in return, my heartfelt thanks.” He sprang up, and stood in full height before the Greek, whom the warlike air, the dark sparkling eyes, the deep mysterious voice of his guest, almost inspired with fear. “Thy proposal is intended kindly,” continued he; “for another it might have charms; but I—I cannot accept it. Already stands my horse saddled: already do my attendants await me. Farewell, Zaleukos!”

The friends whom destiny had so strangely thrown together, embraced at parting. “And how may I call thee? What is the name of my guest, who will forever live in my remembrance?” exclaimed the Greek.

The stranger gazed at him some time, and said, as he pressed his hand once more: “They call me ‘the lord of the wilderness;’ I am the Robber Orbasan!”