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Bardissi's countenance lighted up with joy when the Bedouin sheik Arnhyn brought this intelligence. "The decisive moment, the day of battle is at hand. If we are victors, how Sitta Nefysseh will smile on us, how happy she will be!" Yes, the decisive moment is at hand. Perhaps Nefysseh's cold heart will be touched, perhaps she will bestow upon the victor a glorious reward herself.
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.
"It is true; forgive my thoughtlessness," replied Osman in low and almost angry tones. "Permit me to take my leave, Sitta Nefysseh. I do not wish to disturb your interview with the great L'Elfi Bey." "On the contrary, you will please remain," replied she, quietly, gracefully drawing her fragrant veil over her head, and covering her face. Bardissi's heroic countenance became radiant with delight.
Having vanquished both of them, I hardly think Taber Pacha will have any desire to sustain the third defeat. We will then turn our attention to Cairo, now stripped of soldiers." The kachefs, who had listened to Bardissi's words with sparkling eyes, spoke as one man: "We will not retreat from the enemy like L'Elfi! Lead us against him! We will vanquish him! We are strong and courageous!
In the years that have since passed, I have often thought of the boy with the eagle eyes and the haughty, contemptuous smile. Our second meeting occurred a few months since, after the massacre at Aboukir. You were my enemy, and yet you acted as my friend. You saved Osman Bey Bardissi's life. Then I said to you: 'I will remember this, Mohammed Ali, and in me you have found a friend for all time."
Mohammed and Bardissi's united forces march out to a succession of conflicts, ever returning to Cairo crowned with victory. Bardissi and Mohammed are united in love and friendship, and, though the former seems to be the ruler, the latter reigns in reality. The whole city is aware of this, and those who have complaints to make, and seek redress, come not to Bardissi, but to Mohammed Ali.
I have discharged him, not because I thought ill of him, not because I desired to punish him, but because I esteem him, because I know he was created for something better than to be only the servant of a woman. I discharged him because his courage and nobility of soul urged him to draw the sword and go out to battle. He has gone to Bardissi's camp to serve in the ranks of his Mamelukes."
Cousrouf did not comply with her request. He folded the paper, and laid it on the table again. "It is unnecessary that you should read it. I insist that your kachef endeavors to corrupt my soldiers and induce them to desert to Bardissi's camp. This is clearly treason.
Are those not Albanians and Armenians?" A loud, a fearful cry resounds from Bardissi's lips: "Those are Mohammed Ali's troops, and it is he who is leading them against us. It is he who has planned my destruction. Then let us also prepare for battle ourselves. They shall see that Bardissi is not so easily trapped. Let us defend ourselves in this house as in a fortress.
Many of the dead and wounded lie in front of Bardissi's palace men who had stood faithfully by their master, and fallen bravely in the discharge of duty. A number of women approach this place. Veiled like the rest is she who precedes the others; yet her royal bearing, and the deference shown her by the servants and Mamelukes who accompany her, proclaim her to be Sitta Nefysseh.
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