Youssouf steps into the inner court-yard; he lays his hand on his
brown beard and strokes its curly locks.
"Be a man," murmur his lips. "Be resolute. Alas! I could endure not
being the one if no other dared approach her. But here comes one of
them already. He can approach her and speak of love. Woe is me!"
With profound deference, and forcing his features into a smile,
Youssouf approached Osman Bey Bardissi, who at this moment came into
the court, mounted on his proud, splendidly-equipped steed, and
followed by a body of his Mamelukes.
"Is your mistress at home?" asked Bardissi, springing lightly to the
ground, and throwing the purple-silk reins to the Mameluke who
hurried forward.
"Yes, Sitta Nefysseh is in the park. She is resting in the kiosk,
and I will announce to the female slaves that Osman Bey Bardissi
wishes to see their mistress."
"Do so, Kachef Youssouf," said Bardissi. "But first listen to me.
How would you like to be taken into my service, kachef? you are too
good for this life of inactivity? If you desire it, I will ask Sitta
Nefysseh to give you your freedom?"
"Give me my freedom? I am free!" said Youssouf, regarding Bardissi
with proud composure. "I was a Mameluke with Mourad, as you know. My
noble master had purchased me; he loved me, and often told me I
should remain with him while I lived. He made me kachef, first
kachef of his house.
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