"Could your highness expect Mourad Bey's--the Mameluke chieftain's-- widow to raise soldiers for the enemies of her deceased husband?" asked she, throwing her head back proudly. "Yet let me remark this: my expression was badly chosen. Sitta Nefysseh does not occupy herself with raising soldiers. Youssouf was brought up by my husband, and has remained in my house these few years since his death. He had grown weary of the effeminate life he was leading, and begged to be discharged from my service. I did as he requested. I am not his mother, not his sister, and not his relative. He is a freeman, and puts his freedom to the best use. But I tell you that he is not guilty of the charge you make against him--he never wrote that paper. And do you know why not, Cousrouf? Because he does not know how to write. He is a warrior, and only knows how to write indelible characters on the faces of his enemies with his sword; and, believe me, I should recognize these characters if they were inscribed on your face--I should recognize the handwriting of my kachef; but the characters on that paper are not his." "Truly, Sitta Nefysseh, your audacity is great!" cried Cousrouf. "But, it seems to me, yours is far greater; forgive me for saying so, highness. Man and woman we stand before each other, and you have publicly branded the woman, who is conscious of no shame, with disgrace." "How can you make such a charge against me? What is it that I have done? You yourself acknowledge that the master is justly responsible for his servants' actions, and I repeat it: your kachef has endeavored to draw my soldiers from their allegiance, to corrupt them. I have accused you of nothing else." "Yes, you have more than accused me of other crimes!" cried she, throwing back her veil, her eyes sparkling with indignation. "Look at me! In me, you have put the woman, put Mourad Bey's widow to shame. You have caused me to be brought from my house by policemen. That is to say, you have insulted, in me, womanly virtue and honor!" "How so?" asked Cousrouf, in astonishment. "Do you know so little of the customs of our land? You, the Viceroy of Egypt, do not know that, when women are led through the street by the police, it is equivalent to branding them as lost to all shame; that they are delivered over to the police to be punished by being conducted through the public streets, to the disgrace of their entire sex!"