Here was love triumphant. “I must say,” said Frank at a later hour, “I have spent a really delightful afternoon. I have enjoyed it thoroughly.”

“Then may I crave,” said the jinn, who was at that moment serving him his supper, “may I crave the boon of being allowed to act as your butler, and as general minister to your pleasures, instead of being returned to that abominable bottle?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Frank. “It certainly seems rather tough that, after having fixed all this up, you should be crammed back into the bottle again. Very well, act as my butler, but understand, whatever the convention may be, I wish you never to enter a room without knocking. And above all — no tricks.”

The jinn, with a soapy smile of gratitude, withdrew, and Frank shortly retired to his harem, where he passed the evening as pleasantly as he had passed the afternoon.

Some weeks went by, entirely filled with these agreeable pastimes, till Frank, in obedience to a law which not even the most efficient of jinns can set aside, found himself growing a little overparticular, a little blase, a little inclined to criticize and find fault.

“These,” said he to his jinn, “are very pretty young creatures, if you like that sort of thing, but I imagine they can hardly be first-rate, or I should feel more interest in them. I am, after all, a connoisseur; nothing can please me but the very best. Take them away. Roll up all the tiger-skins but one.”

“It shall be done,” said the jinn. “Behold, it is accomplished.”

“And on that remaining tiger-skin,” said Frank, “put me Cleopatra herself.”

The next moment, Cleopatra was there, looking, it must be admitted, absolutely superb. “Hullo!” she said. “Here I am, on a tiger-skin again!”

“Again?” cried Frank, suddenly reminded of the old man in the shop. “Here! Take her back. Bring me Helen of Troy.”

Next moment, Helen of Troy was there. “Hullo!” she said. “Here I am, on a tiger-skin again!”

“Again?” cried Frank. “Damn that old man! Take her away. Bring me Queen Guinevere.”

Guinevere said exactly the same thing; so did Madame de Pompadour, Lady Hamilton, and every other famous beauty that Frank could think of. “No wonder,” said he, “that old man was such an extremely wizened old man! The old fiend! The old devil! He has properly taken the gilt off all the gingerbread. Call me jealous if you like; I will not play second fiddle to that ugly old rascal. Where shall I find a perfect creature, worthy of the embraces of such a connoisseur as I am?”

“If you are deigning to address that question to me,” said the jinn, “let me remind you that there was, in that shop, a little bottle which my late master had never unstoppered, because I supplied him with it after he had lost interest in matters of this sort. Nevertheless, it has the reputation of containing the most beautiful girl in the whole world.”

“You are right,” cried Frank. “Get me that bottle without delay.”

In a few seconds, the bottle lay before him. “You may have the afternoon off,” said Frank to the jinn.

“Thank you,” said the jinn. “I will go and see my family in Arabia. I have not seen them for a long time.” With that, he bowed and withdrew. Frank turned his attention to the bottle, which he was not long in unstoppering.

Out came the most beautiful girl you can possibly imagine. Cleopatra and all that lot were hags and frumps compared with her. “Where am I?” said she. “What is this beautiful place? What am I doing on a tiger-skin? Who is this handsome young prince?”

“It’s me!” cried Frank, in a rapture.