day, if you do but know how to profit by your advantages, will console
you for all your troubles, which have indeed been great--for only
yesterday, though you were generous enough to forget it, only yesterday
you suffered cruelly--but you were not alone in your sufferings.  This
proud young lady suffered also!"

"Do you think so?" said Djalma.

"Oh! it is quite sure, my lord.  What must she not have felt, when she
saw you at the theatre with another woman!--If she loved you only a
little, she must have been deeply wounded in her self-esteem; if she
loved you with passion, she must have been struck to the heart.  At
length, you see, wearied out with suffering, she has come to you."

"So that, any way, she must have suffered--and that does not move your
pity?" said Djalma, in a constrained, but still very mild voice.

"Before thinking of others, my lord, I think of your distresses; and they
touch me too nearly to leave me any pity for other woes," added Faringhea
hypocritically, so greatly had the influence of Rodin already modified
the character of the Phansegar.

"It is strange!" said Djalma, speaking to himself, as he viewed the half-
caste with a glance still kind but piercing.

"What is strange, my lord?"

"Nothing.  But tell me, since your advice has hitherto prospered so well,
what think you of the future?"

"Of the future, my lord?"

"Yes; in an hour I shall be with Mdlle. de Cardoville."

"That is a serious matter, my lord.  The whole future will depend upon
this interview."

"That is what I was just thinking."

"Believe me, my lord, women never love any so well, as the bold man who
spares them the embarrassment of a refusal."

"Explain more fully."

"Well, my lord, they despise the timid and languishing lover, who asks
humbly for what he might take by force."

"But to-day I shall meet Mdlle. de Cardoville for the first time."

"You have met her a thousand times in your dreams, my lord; and depend
upon it, she has seen you also in her dreams, since she loves you.  Every
one of your amorous thoughts has found an echo in her heart.  All your
ardent adorations have been responded to by her.  Love has not two
languages, and, without meeting, you have said all that you had to say to
each other.  Now, it is for you to act as her master, and she will be
yours entirely."

"It is strange--very strange!" said Djalma, a second time, without
removing his eyes from Faringhea's face.

Mistaking the sense which the prince attached to these words, the half-
caste resumed: "Believe me, my lord, however strange it may appear, this
is the wisest course.  Remember the past.  Was it by playing the part of
a timid lover that you have brought to your feet this proud young lady,
my lord?  No, it was by pretending to despise her, in favor of another
woman.  Therefore, let us have no weakness.  The lion does not woo like
the poor turtle-dove.  What cares the sultan of the desert for a few
plaintive howls from the lioness, who is more pleased than angry at his
rude and wild caresses?  Soon submissive, fearful and happy, she follows
in the track of her master.  Believe me, my lord--try everything--dare
everything--and to-day you will become the adored sultan of this young
lady, whose beauty all Paris admires."

After some minutes' silence, Djalma, shaking his head with an expression
of tender pity, said to the half-caste, in his mild, sonorous voice: "Why
betray me thus?  Why advise me thus wickedly to use violence, terror, and
surprise, towards an angel of purity, whom I respect as my mother?  Is it
not enough for you to have been so long devoted to my enemies, whose
hatred has followed me from Java?"

Had Djalma sprung upon the half-caste with bloodshot eye, menacing brow,
and lifted poniard, the latter would have been less surprised, and
perhaps less frightened, than when he heard the prince speak of his
treachery in this tone of mild reproach.

He drew back hastily, as if about to stand on his guard.  But Djalma
resumed, with the same gentleness, "Fear nothing.  Yesterday I should
have killed you! But to-day happy love renders me too just, too merciful
for that.  I pity you, without any feeling of bitterness--for you must
have been very unhappy, or you could not have become so wicked."

"My lord!" said the half-caste, with growing amazement.

"Yes, you must have suffered much, and met with little mercy, poor
creature, to have become so merciless, in your hate, and proof against
the sight of a happiness like mine.  When I listened to you just now, and
saw the sad perseverance of your hatred, I felt the deepest commiseration
for you."

"I do not know, my lord--but--" stammered the half-caste, and was unable
to find words to proceed.

"Come, now--what harm have I ever done you?"

"None, my lord," answered Faringhea.

"Then why do you hate me thus? why pursue me with so much animosity?  Was
it not enough to give me the perfidious counsel to feign a shameful love
for the young girl that was brought hither, and who quitted the house
disgusted at the miserable part she was to play?"

"Your feigned love for that young girl, my lord," replied Faringhea,
gradually recovering his presence of mind, "conquered the coldness of--"

"Do not say that," resumed the prince, interrupting him with the same
mildness.  "If I enjoy this happiness, which makes me compassionate
towards you, and raises me above myself, it is because Mdlle de
Cardoville now knows that I have never for a moment ceased to love her as
she ought to be loved, with adoration and reverence.  It was your
intention to have parted us forever, and you had nearly succeeded."

"If you think this of me, my lord, you must look upon me as your most
mortal enemy."

"Fear nothing, I tell you.  I have no right to blame you.  In the madness
of my grief, I listened to you and followed your advice.  I was not only
your dupe, but your accomplice.  Only confess that, when you saw me at
your mercy, dejected, crushed, despairing, it was cruel in you to advise
the course that might have been most fatal to me."

"The ardor of my zeal may have deceived me, my lord."

"I am willing to believe it.  And yet again to-day there were the same
evil counsels.  You had no more pity for my happiness than for my sorrow.
The rapture of my heart inspires you with only one desire--that of
changing this rapture into despair."

"I, my lord!"

"Yes, you.  It was your intention to ruin me--to dishonor me forever in
the eyes of Mdlle. de Cardoville.  Now, tell me--why this furious hate?
what have I done to you?"

"You misjudge me, my lord--and--"

"Listen to me.  I do not wish you to be any longer wicked and
treacherous.  I wish to make you good.  In our country, they charm
serpents, and tame the wildest tigers.  You are a man, with a mind to
reason, a heart to love, and I will tame you too by gentleness.  This day
has bestowed on me divine happiness; you shall have good cause to bless
this day.  What can I do for you?  what would you have--gold?  You shall
have it.  Do you desire more than gold?  Do you desire a friend, to
console you for the sorrows that made you wicked, and to teach you to be
good?  Though a king's son, I will be that friend--in spite of the evil--
ay, because of the evil you have done me.  Yes; I will be your sincere
friend, and it shall be my delight to say to myself: 'The day on which I
learned that my angel loved me, my happiness was great indeed--for, in
the morning, I had an implacable enemy, and, ere night, his hatred was
changed to friendship.'  Believe me, Faringhea, misery makes crime, but
happiness produces virtue.  Be happy!"

At this moment the clock struck two.  The prince started.  It was time to
go on his visit to Adrienne.  The handsome countenance of Djalma, doubly
embellished by the mild, ineffable expression with which it had been
animated whilst he was talking to the half-caste, now seemed illumined
with almost divine radiance.

Approaching Faringhea, he extended his hand with the utmost, grace and
courtesy, saying to him, "Your hand!"

The half-caste, whose brow was bathed with a cold sweat, whose
countenance was pale and agitated, seemed to hesitate for an instant;
then, overawed, conquered, fascinated, he offered his trembling hand to
the prince, who pressed it, and said to him, in their country's fashion,
"You have laid your hand honestly in a friend's; this hand shall never be
closed against you.  Faringhea, farewell!  I now feel myself more worthy
to kneel before my angel."

And Djalma went out, on his way to the appointment with Adrienne.  In
spite of his ferocity, in spite of the pitiless hate he bore to the whole
human race, the dark sectary of Bowanee was staggered by the noble and
clement words of Djalma, and said to himself, with terror, "I have taken
his hand.  He is now sacred for me."

Then, after a moment's silence, a thought occurred to him, and he
exclaimed, "Yes--but he will not be sacred for him who, according to the
answer of last night, waits for him at the door of the house."

So saying, the half-caste hastened into the next room, which looked upon
the street, and, raising a corner of the curtain, muttered anxiously to
himself, "The carriage moves off--the man approaches.  Perdition! it is
gone and I see no more."




CHAPTER XL.

ANXIETY.

By a singular coincidence of ideas, Adrienne, like Djalma, had wished to
be dressed exactly in the same costume as at their interview in the house
in the Rue Blanche.  For the site of this solemn meeting, so important to
her future happiness, Adrienne had chosen, with habitual tact, the grand
drawing-room of Cardoville House, in which hung many family portraits.
The most apparent were those of her father and mother.  The room was
large and lofty, and furnished, like those which preceded it, with all
the imposing splendor of the age of Louis XIV.  The ceiling, painted by
Lebrun, to represent the Triumph of Apollo, displayed his bold designing
and vigorous coloring, in the centre of a wide cornice, magnificently
carved and gilt, and supported at its angles by four large gilt figures,
representing the Seasons.  Huge panels, covered with crimson damask, and
set in frames, served as the background to the family portraits which
adorned this apartment.  It is easier to conceive than describe the
thousand conflicting emotions which agitated the bosom of Mdlle. de
Cardoville as the moment approached for her interview with Djalma.  Their
meeting had been hitherto prevented by so many painful obstacles, and
Adrienne was so well aware of the vigilant and active perfidy of her
enemies, that even now she doubted of her happiness.  Every instant, in
spite of herself, her eyes wandered to the clock.  A few minutes more,
and the hour of the appointment would strike.  It struck at last.  Every
reverberation was echoed from the depth of Adrienne's heart.  She
considered that Djalma's modest reserve had, doubtless, prevented his
coming before the moment fixed by herself.  Far from blaming this
discretion, she fully appreciated it.  But, from that moment, at the
least noise in the adjoining apartments, she held her breath and listened
with the anxiety of expectation.

For the first few minutes which followed the hour at which she expected
Djalma, Mdlle. de Cardoville felt no serious apprehension, and calmed her
impatience by the notion (which appears childish enough to those who have
never known the feverish agitation of waiting for a happy meeting), that
perhaps the clocks in the Rue Blanche might vary a little from those in
the Rue d'Anjou.  But when this supposed variation, conceivable enough in
itself, could no longer explain a delay of a quarter of an hour, of
twenty minutes, of more, Adrienne felt her anxiety gradually increase.
Two or three times the young girl rose, with palpitating heart, and went
on tip-toe to listen at the door of the saloon.  She heard nothing.  The
clock struck half-past three.

Unable to suppress her growing terror, and clinging to a last hope,
Adrienne returned towards the fireplace and rang the bell.  After which
she endeavored to compose her features, so as to betray no outward sign
of emotion.  In a few seconds, a gray-haired footman, dressed in black,
opened the door, and waited in respectful silence for the orders of his
mistress.  The latter said to him, in a calm voice, "Andrew, request Hebe
to give you the smelling bottle that I left on the chimney-piece in my
room, and bring it me here."  Andrew bowed; but just as he was about to
withdraw to execute Adrienne's orders, which was only a pretext to enable
her to ask a question without appearing to attach much importance to it
in her servant's eyes, already informed of the expected visit of the
prince, Mdlle. de Cardoville added, with an air of indifference.  "Pray,
is that clock right?"

Andrew drew out his watch, and replied as he cast his eyes upon it, "Yes,
mademoiselle.  I set my watch by the Tuileries.  It is more than half-
past three."

"Very well--thank you!" said Adrienne kindly.

Andrew again bowed; but, before going out, he said to Adrienne, "I forgot
to tell you, lady, that Marshal Simon called about an hour ago; but, as
you were only to be at home to Prince Djalma, we told him that you
received no company."

"Very well," said Adrienne.  With another low bow, Andrew quitted the
room, and all returned to silence.

For the precise reason that, up to the last minute of the hour previous
to the time fixed for her interview with Djalma, the hopes of Adrienne
had not been disturbed by the slightest shadow of doubt, the
disappointment she now felt was the more dreadful.  Casting a desponding
look at one of the portraits placed above her, she murmured, with a
plaintive and despairing accent, "Oh, mother!"

Hardly had Mdlle. de Cardoville uttered the words than the windows were
slightly shaken by a carriage rolling into the courtyard.  The young lady
started, and was unable to repress a low cry of joy.  Her heart bounded
at the thought of meeting Djalma, for this time she felt that he was
really come.  She was quite as certain of it as if she had seen him.  She
resumed her seat and brushed away a tear suspended from her long
eyelashes.  Her hand trembled like a leaf.  The sound of several doors
opening and shutting proved that the young lady was right in her
conjecture.  The gilded panels of the drawing-room door soon turned upon
their hinges, and the prince appeared.

While a second footman ushered in Djalma, Andrew placed on a gilded
table, within reach of his mistress, a little silver salver, on which
stood the crystal smelling-bottle.  Then he withdrew, and the door of the
room was closed.  The prince and Mdlle. de Cardoville were left alone
together.




CHAPTER XLI.

ADRIENNE AND DJALMA.

The prince had slowly approached Mdlle. de Cardoville.  Notwithstanding
the impetuosity of the Oriental's passions, his uncertain and timid step-
-timid, yet graceful--betrayed his profound emotion.  He did not venture
to lift his eyes to Adrienne's face; he had suddenly become very pale,
and his finely formed hands, folded over his bosom in the attitude of

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