"You confide them to me," said he, his countenance radiant with delight. "You wish to confide to your slave the keys to your treasure?" "Does that surprise you?" asked she, gently. "I know I can safely confide to the kachef of my deceased husband all that I have and possess. You will keep the keys; and listen, Youssouf, should I die- -" "Die!" he exclaimed, with a cry which he found it impossible to repress. "Die!--you, Sitta Nefysseh?" "I am mortal, as we all are, as great Mourad was!" said she, gravely. "If I should die, you will take these keys to Osman Bey Bardissi, and tell him that Sitta Nefysseh sends them to him, and that in the vault here are souvenirs for her friends. You, however, Youssouf, I make the executor of my last will; you are to distribute the souvenirs according to a list that I will give you." She arose and took from a little closet in the wall a small book, bound with gold and richly studded with diamonds. "This book contains the names of those to whom I wish to leave a present at my death; you will act according to the instructions contained in it, but the book itself you will keep. My initials are on it, set in splendid diamonds. It was given me by Bonaparte, the general of the Franks. Keep it, and, when you read my name, think of me!" "Mistress, I can bear it no longer!" cried he, bursting into tears and falling on his knees. "No, I can bear it no longer! The thought of your dying robs me of all self-control. O mistress, be merciful, and do not speak of your death!" "We have already dismissed that subject," said she, smiling. "We must be firm and brave. Youssouf must not weep like a young girl! Dry your tears, I will not see them!" Obedient to her command, he arose and brushed the tears from his eyes. "Mistress, at your bidding my heart is strong again, and your slave awaits your commands," said he, in a firm voice. She seemed to be struggling to regain control of herself. Youssouf's eyes rested on her in a glance of such passionate tenderness that she felt it without seeing it. "I have a final commission to give you," said she. "A command, mistress! You know that your slightest is a command for me, and would be carried out if I should die in the performance!" "Die?" said she, with a slight start. "Now you speak of death, Youssouf. No, you shall not die! No, thoughts of death overtake us soon enough! Listen: I wish you to mount your horse and ride to Osman Bey Bardissi's camp."