leaped joyfully into the water.  There are mothers here who kill their
children out of pity.--Brothers, the good work will prosper in this
country!"

"This morning," said the negro, "whilst they tore the flesh of one of his
black slaves with whips, a withered old merchant of Batavia left his
country-house to come to the town.  Lolling in his palanquin, he
received, with languid indolence, the sad caresses of two of those girls,
whom he had bought, to people his harem, from parents too poor to give
them food.  The palanquin, which held this little old man, and the girls,
was carried by twelve young and robust men.  There are here, you see,
mothers who in their misery sell their own daughters--slaves that are
scourged--men that carry other men, like beasts of burden.--Brothers, the
good work will prosper in this country!"

"Yes, in this country--and in every land of oppression, distress,
corruption, and slavery."

"Could we but induce Djalma to join us, as Mahal the Smuggler advised,"
said the Indian, "our voyage to Java would doubly profit us; for we
should then number among our band this brave and enterprising youth, who
has so many motives to hate mankind."

"He will soon be here; let us envenom his resentments."

"Remind him of his father's death!"

"Of the massacre of his people!"

"His own captivity!"

"Only let hatred inflame his heart, and he will be ours."

The negro, who had remained for some time lost in thought, said suddenly:
"Brothers, suppose Mahal the Smuggler were to betray us?"

"He" cried the Hindoo, almost with indignation; "he gave us an asylum on
board his bark; he secured our flight from the Continent; he is again to
take us with him to Bombay, where we shall find vessels for America,
Europe, Africa."

"What interest would Mahal have to betray us?" said Faringhea.  "Nothing
could save him from the vengeance of the sons of Bowanee, and that he
knows."

"Well," said the black, "he promised to get Djalma to come hither this
evening, and, once amongst us, he must needs be our own."

"Was it not the Smuggler who told us to order the Malay to enter the
ajoupa of Djalma, to surprise him during his sleep, and, instead of
killing him as he might have done, to trace the name of Bowanee upon his
arm?  Djalma will thus learn to judge of the resolution, the cunning and
obedience of our brethren, and he will understand what he has to hope or
fear from such men.  Be it through admiration or through terror, he must
become one of us."

"But if he refuses to join us, notwithstanding the reasons he has to hate
mankind?"

"Then--Bowanee will decide his fate," said Faringhea, with a gloomy look;
"I have my plan."

"But will the Malay succeed in surprising Djalma during his sleep?" said
the negro.

"There is none nobler, more agile, more dexterous, than the Malay," said
Faringhea.  "He once had the daring to surprise in her den a black
panther, as she suckled her cub.  He killed the dam, and took away the
young one, which he afterwards sold to some European ship's captain."

"The Malay has succeeded!" exclaimed the Indian, listening to a singular
kind of hoot, which sounded through the profound silence of the night and
of the woods.

"Yes, it is the scream of the vulture seizing its prey," said the negro,
listening in his turn; "it is also the signal of our brethren, after they
have seized their prey."

In a few minutes, the Malay appeared at the door of the hut.  He had
wound around him a broad length of cotton, adorned with bright colored
stripes.

"Well," said the negro, anxiously; "have you succeeded?"

"Djalma must bear all his life the mark of the good work," said the
Malay, proudly.  "To reach him, I was forced to offer up to Bowanee a man
who crossed my path--I have left his body under the brambles, near the
ajoupa.  But Djalma is marked with the sign.  Mahal the Smuggler was the
first to know it."

"And Djalma did not awake?" said the Indian, confounded by the Malay's
adroitness.

"Had he awoke," replied the other, calmly, "I should have been a dead
man--as I was charged to spare his life."

"Because his life may be more useful to us than his death," said the
half-caste.  Then, addressing the Malay, he added: "Brother, in risking
life for the good work, you have done to-day what we did yesterday, what
we may do again to-morrow.  This time, you obey; another you will
command."

"We all belong to Bowanee," answered the Malay.  "What is there yet to
do?--I am ready."  Whilst he thus spoke, his face was turned towards the
door of the hut; on a sudden, he said in a low voice: "Here is Djalma.
He approaches the cabin.  Mahal has not deceived us."

"He must not see me yet," said Faringhea, retiring to an obscure corner
of the cabin, and hiding himself under a mat; "try to persuade him.  If
he resists--I have my project."

Hardly had Faringhea disappeared, saying these words, when Djalma arrived
at the door of the hovel.  At sight of those three personages with their
forbidding aspect, Djalma started in surprise.  But ignorant that these
men belonged to the Phansegars, and knowing that, in a country where
there are no inns, travellers often pass the night under a tent, or
beneath the shelter of some ruins, he continued to advance towards them.
After the first moment, he perceived by the complexion and the dress of
one of these men, that he was an Indian, and he accosted him in the
Hindoo language: "I thought to have found here a European--a Frenchman--"

"The Frenchman is not yet come," replied the Indian; "but he will not be
long."

Guessing by Djalma's question the means which Mahal had employed to draw
him into the snare, the Indian hoped to gain time by prolonging his
error.

"You knew this Frenchman?"  asked Djalma of the Phansegar.

"He appointed us to meet here, as he did you," answered the Indian.

"For what?"  inquired Djalma, more and more astonished.

"You will know when he arrives."

"General Simon told you to be at this place?"

"Yes, General Simon," replied the Indian.

There was a moment's pause, during which Djalma sought in vain to explain
to himself this mysterious adventure.  "And who are you?" asked he, with
a look of suspicion; for the gloomy silence of the Phansegar's two
companions, who stared fixedly at each other, began to give him some
uneasiness.

"We are yours, if you will be ours," answered the Indian.

"I have no need of you--nor you of me."

"Who knows?"

"I know it."

"You are deceived.  The English killed your father, a king; made you a
captive; proscribed you, you have lost all your possessions."

At this cruel reminder, the countenance of Djalma darkened.  He started,
and a bitter smile curled his lip.  The Phansegar continued:

"Your father was just and brave--beloved by his subjects--they called him
'Father of the Generous,' and he was well named.  Will you leave his
death unavenged?  Will the hate, which gnaws at your heart, be without
fruit?"

"My father died with arms in his hand.  I revenged his death on the
English whom I killed in war.  He, who has since been a father to me, and
who fought also in the same cause, told me, that it would now be madness
to attempt to recover my territory from the English.  When they gave me
my liberty, I swore never again to set foot in India--and I keep the
oaths I make."

"Those who despoiled you, who took you captive, who killed your father--
were men.  Are there not other men, on whom you can avenge yourself!  Let
your hate fall upon them!"

"You, who speak thus of men, are not a man!"

"I, and those who resemble me, are more than men.  We are, to the rest of
the human race, what the bold hunter is to the wild beasts, which they
run down in the forest.  Will you be, like us, more than a man?  Will you
glut surely, largely, safely--the hate which devours your heart, for all
the evil done you?"

"Your words become more and more obscure: I have no hatred in my heart,"
said Djalma.  "When an enemy is worthy of me, I fight with him; when he
is unworthy, I despise him.  So that I have no hate--either for brave men
or cowards."

"Treachery!" cried the negro on a sudden, pointing with rapid gesture to
the door, for Djalma and the Indian had now withdrawn a little from it,
and were standing in one corner of the hovel.

At the shout of the negro, Faringhea, who had not been perceived by
Djalma, threw off abruptly the mat which covered him, drew his crease,
started up like a tiger, and with one bound was out of the cabin.  Then,
seeing a body of soldiers advancing cautiously in a circle, he dealt one
of them a mortal stroke, threw down two others, and disappeared in the
midst of the ruins.  All this passed so instantaneously, that, when
Djalma turned round, to ascertain the cause of the negro's cry of alarm,
Faringhea had already disappeared.

The muskets of several soldiers, crowding to the door, were immediately
pointed at Djalma and the three Stranglers, whilst others went in pursuit
of Faringhea.  The negro, the Malay, and the Indian, seeing the
impossibility of resistance, exchanged a few rapid words, and offered
their hands to the cords, with which some of the soldiers had provided
themselves.

The Dutch captain, who commanded the squad, entered the cabin at this
moment.  "And this other one?" said he, pointing out Djalma to the
soldiers, who were occupied in binding the three Phansegars.

"Each in his turn, captain!" said an old sergeant.  "We come to him
next."

Djalma had remained petrified with surprise, not understanding what was
passing round him; but, when he saw the sergeant and two soldiers
approach with ropes to bind him, he repulsed them with violent
indignation, and rushed towards the door where stood the officer.  The
soldiers, who had supposed that Djalma would submit to his fate with the
same impassibility as his companions, were astounded by this resistance,
and recoiled some paces, being struck in spite of themselves, with the
noble and dignified air of the son of Kadja-sing.

"Why would you bind me like these men?" cried Djalma, addressing himself
in Hindostanee to the officer, who understood that language from his long
service in the Dutch colonies.

"Why would we bind you, wretch?--because you form part of this band of
assassins.  What?" added the officer in Dutch, speaking to the soldiers,
"are you afraid of him?--Tie the cord tight about his wrists; there will
soon be another about his neck."

"You are mistaken," said Djalma, with a dignity and calmness which
astonished the officer; "I have hardly been in this place a quarter of an
hour--I do not know these men.  I came here to meet a Frenchman."

"Not a Phansegar like them?--Who will believe the falsehood?"

"Them!" cried Djalma, with so natural a movement and expression of
horror, that with a sign the officer stopped the soldiers, who were again
advancing to bind the son of Kadja-sing; "these men form part of that
horrible band of murderers! and you accuse me of being their accomplice!-
-Oh, in this case, sir! I am perfectly at ease," said the young man, with
a smile of disdain.

"It will not be sufficient to say that you are tranquil," replied the
officer; "thanks to their confessions, we now know by what mysterious
signs to recognize the Thugs."

"I repeat, sir, that I hold these murderers in the greatest horror, and
that I came here--"

The negro, interrupting Djalma, said to the officer with a ferocious joy:
"You have hit it; the sons of the good work do know each other by marks
tattooed on their skin.  For us, the hour has come--we give our necks to
the cord.  Often enough have we twined it round the necks of those who
served not with us the good work.  Now, look at our arms, and look at the
arms of this youth!"

The officer, misinterpreting the words of the negro, said to Djalma: "It
is quite clear, that if, as this negro tells us, you do not bear on your
arm the mysterious symbol--(we are going to assure ourselves of the
fact), and if you can explain your presence here in a satisfactory
manner, you may be at liberty within two hours."

"You do not understand me," said the negro to the officer; "Prince Djalma
is one of us, for he bears on his left arm the name of Bowanee."

"Yes! he is like us, a son of Kale!" added the Malay.

"He is like us, a Phansegar," said the Indian.

The three men, irritated at the horror which Djalma had manifested on
learning that they were Phansegars, took a savage pride in making it
believed that the son of Kadja-sing belonged to their frightful
association.

"What have you to answer?"  said the officer to Djalma.  The latter again
gave a look of disdainful pity, raised with his right hand his long, wide
left sleeve, and displayed his naked arm.

"What audacity!" cried the officer, for on the inner part of the fore-
arm, a little below the bend, the name of the Bowanee, in bright red
Hindoo characters, was distinctly visible.  The officer ran to the Malay,
and uncovered his arm; he saw the same word, the same signs.  Not yet
satisfied, he assured himself that the negro and the Indian were likewise
so marked.

"Wretch!" cried he, turning furiously towards Djalma; "you inspire even
more horror than your accomplices.  Bind him like a cowardly assassin,"
added he to the soldiers; "like a cowardly assassin, who lies upon the
brink of the grave, for his execution will not be long delayed."

Struck with stupor, Djalma, who for some moments had kept his eye riveted
on the fatal mark, was unable to pronounce a word, or make the least
movement: his powers of thought seemed to fail him, in presence of this
incomprehensible fact.

"Would you dare deny this sign?"  said the officer to him, with
indignation.

"I cannot deny what I see--what is," said Djalma, quite overcome.

"It is lucky that you confess at last," replied the officer.  "Soldiers,
keep watch over him and his accomplices--you answer for them."

Almost believing himself the sport of some wild dream.  Djalma offered no
resistance, but allowed himself to be bound and removed with mechanical
passiveness.  The officer, with part of his soldiers, hoped still to
discover Faringhea amongst the ruins; but his search was vain, and, after
spending an hour in fruitless endeavors, he set out for Batavia, where
the escort of the prisoners had arrived before him.

Some hours after these events, M. Joshua van Dael thus finished his long
despatch, addressed to M. Rodin, of Paris:

"Circumstances were such, that I could not act otherwise; and, taking all
into consideration, it is a very small evil for a great good.  Three
murderers are delivered over to justice, and the temporary arrest of
Djalma will only serve to make his innocence shine forth with redoubled
luster.

"Already this morning I went to the governor, to protest in favor of our
young prince.  'As it was through me,' I said, 'that those three great
criminals fell into the hands of the authorities, let them at least show
me some gratitude, by doing everything to render clear as day the
innocence of Prince Djalma, so interesting by reason of his misfortunes
and noble qualities.  Most certainly,' I added, 'when I came yesterday to

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