There was something so humble, so imploring in his voice and look, that Sitta Nefysseh's heart was touched against her will. She could not do otherwise, she held out her hand and gave him a kindly look. "I have sworn that no other man should cross my threshold; but you, Youssouf, you may come sometimes." He starts, and gazes at her intently. Her voice sounds so sweet, so changed, and his eyes sparkle with delight. She quickly withdraws her hand and looks down. She feels that she has betrayed herself for a moment, she feels the ardent gaze that is fastened on her, and dares not look up, for fear that he may read the love that is reflected in her eyes. "Farewell, Youssouf Bey! I tell you, you may sometimes come, but farewell for the present." She turns, and, without looking at him again, goes into the other room, where her women are awaiting her. With a quick movement she draws the curtain over the door; she knows that no one must see him at this moment; she knows he will fall on his knees and kiss the place where she stood. Yes, she knows this, for she loves him, and understands his heart. And she is right! He has fallen on his knees, and, again and again, kisses the spot where she stood. Then he stretches out his arms and opens his lips to utter a sweet word. Yet, he does not pronounce it, for, if what he thinks be true, the air itself may not hear it! No, his lips utter no word! He only kisses the air she has breathed. And now can he go, for she has said that he may return! He turns and leaves the house; his soldiers have never seen their kachef's countenance so radiant as now. He mounts his horse, and gallops off through the streets, followed by his Mamelukes. Sitta Nefysseh hears his horse's hoofs ring out against the pavement, and, like him, she sinks down upon her knees, and stretches out her arms. "Youssouf, I love you! Allah be praised, I have seen you again!" CHAPTER XI MOHAMMED ALI AND BARDISSI. Sitta Nefysseh was right: peace had not entered Cairo with the victorious troops. War and turmoil prevailed everywhere, and the confusion became worse each day. The Mamelukes now ruled once more in Cairo, and, with them, Mohammed Ali, Bardissi's beloved friend. Ismail Bey sat enthroned in the citadel, and was the outward representative of the magnificence and grandeur of the Mamelukes, but the real rulers were Bardissi and Mohammed Ali. And these two found no pleasure in lying on soft cushions, and speaking of the deeds of the past. They longed for renewed activity, for new glory! And, even if this had not been the case, they would, nevertheless, have been compelled to draw the sword again. For the Turks were marching out from Alexandria, and many places in the south were still in their hands. Mohammed and Bardissi's united forces march out to a succession of conflicts, ever returning to Cairo crowned with victory.