this unexpected determination, hastily secured the terrible weapon
beneath his own girdle; whilst the half-breed continued, in a voice of
emotion: "Deep this kandjiar, my lord--and when you have seen and heard
all that we go to hear and see--you shall either give me the dagger to
strike a wretch--or the poison, to die without striking.  You shall
command; I will obey."

Djalma was about to reply, when the coach stopped at the house inhabited
by Sainte-Colombe.  The prince and the half-caste, well enveloped in
their mantles, entered a dark porch, and the door was closed after them.
Faringhea exchanged a few words with the porter, and the latter gave him
a key.  The two Orientals soon arrived at Sainte-Colombe's apartments,
which had two doors opening upon the landing-place, besides a private
entrance from the courtyard.  As he put the key into the lock, Faringhea
said to Djalma, in an agitated voice: "Pity my weakness, my lord--but, at
this terrible moment, I tremble and hesitate.  It were perhaps better to
doubt--or to forget!"

Then, as the prince was about to answer, the half-caste exclaimed: "No!
we must have no cowardice!" and, opening the door precipitately, he
entered, followed by Djalma.

When the door was again closed, the prince and the half-caste found
themselves in a dark and narrow passage.  "Your hand, my lord--let me
guide you--walk lightly," said Faringhea, in a low whisper.

He extended his hand to the prince, who took hold of it, and they both
advanced silently through the darkness.  After leading Djalma some
distance, and opening and closing several doors, the half-caste stopped
abruptly, and abandoning the hand which he had hitherto held, said to the
prince: "My lord, the decisive moment approaches; let us wait here for a
few seconds."

A profound silence followed these words of the half-caste.  The darkness
was so complete, that Djalma could distinguish nothing.  In about a
minute, he heard Faringhea moving away from him; and then a door was
suddenly opened, and as abruptly closed and locked.  This circumstance
made Djalma somewhat uneasy.  By a mechanical movement, he laid his hand
upon his dagger, and advanced cautiously towards the side, where he
supposed the door to be.

Suddenly, the half-caste's voice struck upon his ear, though it was
impossible to guess whence it came.  "My lord," it said, "you told me,
you were my friend.  I act as a friend.  If I have employed stratagem to
bring you hither, it is because the blindness of your fatal passion would
otherwise have prevented your accompanying me.  The Princess de Saint-
Dizier named to you Agricola Baudoin, the lover of Adrienne de
Cardoville.  Listen--look--judge!"

The voice ceased.  It appeared to have issued from one corner of the
room.  Djalma, still in darkness, perceived too late into what a snare he
had fallen, and trembled with rage--almost with alarm.

"Faringhea!" he exclaimed; "where am I?  where are you?  Open the door on
your life!  I would leave this place instantly."

Extending his arms, the prince advanced hastily several steps, but he
only touched a tapestried wall; he followed it, hoping to find the door,
and he at length found it; but it was locked, and resisted all his
efforts.  He continued his researches, and came to a fireplace with no
fire in it, and to a second door, equally fast.  In a few moments, he had
thus made the circle of the room, and found himself again at the
fireplace.  The anxiety of the prince increased more and more.  He called
Faringhea, in a voice trembling with passion.  There was no answer.
Profound silence reigned without, and complete darkness within.  Ere
long, a perfumed vapor, of indescribable sweetness, but very subtle and
penetrating, spread itself insensibly through the little room in which
Djalma was.  It might be, that the orifice of a tube, passing through one
of the doors of the room, introduced this balmy current.  At the height
of angry and terrible thoughts, Djalma paid no attention to this odor--
but soon the arteries of his temples began to beat violently, a burning
heat seemed to circulate rapidly through his veins, he felt a sensation
of pleasure, his resentment died gradually away, and a mild, ineffable
torpor crept over him, without his being fully conscious of the mental
transformation that was taking place.  Yet, by a last effort of the
wavering will, Djalma advanced once more to try and open one of the
doors; he found it indeed, but at this place the vapor was so strong,
that its action redoubled, and, unable to move a step further, Djalma was
obliged to support himself by leaning against the wall.[43]

Then a strange thing happened.  A faint light spread itself gradually
through an adjoining apartment, and Djalma now perceived, for the first
time, the existence of a little round window, in the wall of the room in
which he was.  On the side of the prince, this opening was protected by a
slight but strong railing, which hardly intercepted the view.  On the
other side a thick piece of plate-glass was fixed at the distance of two
or three inches from the railing in question.  The room, which Djalma saw
through this window, and through which the faint light was now gradually
spreading, was richly furnished.  Between two windows, hung with crimson
silk curtains, stood a kind of wardrobe, with a looking-glass front;
opposite the fireplace in which glowed the burning coals, was a long,
wide divan, furnished with cushions.

In another second a woman entered this apartment.  Her face and figure
were invisible, being wrapped in a long, hooded mantle, of peculiar form,
and a dark color.  The sight of this mantle made Djalma start.  To the
pleasure he at first felt succeeded a feverish anxiety, like the growing
fumes of intoxication.  There was that strange buzzing in his ears which
we experience when we plunge into deep waters.  It was in a kind of
delirium that Djalma looked on at what was passing in the next room.  The
woman who had just appeared entered with caution, almost with fear.
Drawing aside one of the window curtains, she glanced through the closed
blinds into the street.  Then she returned slowly to the fireplace, where
she stood for a moment pensive, still carefully enveloped in her mantle.
Completely yielding to the influence of the vapor, which deprived him of
his presence of mind--forgetting Faringhea, and all the circumstances
that had accompanied his arrival at this house--Djalma concentrated all
the powers of his attention on the spectacle before him, at which he
seemed to be present as in a dream.

Suddenly Djalma saw the woman leave the fireplace and advance towards the
looking-glass.  Turning her face toward it, she allowed the mantle to
glide down to her feet.  Djalma was thunderstruck.  He saw the face of
Adrienne de Cardoville.  Yes, Adrienne, as he had seen her the night
before, attired as during her interview with the Princess de Saint-
Dizier--the light green dress, the rose-colored ribbons, the white head
ornaments.  A network of white beads concealed her back hair, and
harmonized admirably with the shining gold of her ringlets.  Finally, as
far as the Hindoo could judge through the railing and the thick glass,
and in the faint light, it was the figure of Adrienne, with her marble
shoulders and swan-like neck, so proud and so graceful.  In a word, he
could not, he did not doubt that it was Adrienne de Cardoville.  Djalma
was bathed in a burning dew, his dizzy excitement increased, and, with
bloodshot eye and heaving bosom, he remained motionless, gazing almost
without the power of thought.  The young lady, with her back still turned
towards Djalma, arranged her hair with graceful art, took off the network
which formed her head-dress, placed it on the chimney-piece, and began to
unfasten her gown; then, withdrawing from the looking-glass, she
disappeared for an instant from Djalma's view.

"She is expecting Agricola Baudoin, her lover," said a voice, which
seemed to proceed from the wall of the dark room in which Djalma was.

Notwithstanding his bewilderment, these terrible words, "She is expecting
Agricola Baudoin, her lover," passed like a stream of fire through the
brain and heart of the prince.  A cloud of blood came over his eyes, he
uttered a hollow moan, which the thickness of the glass prevented from
being heard in the next room, and broke his nails in attempting to tear
down the iron railing before the window.

Having reached this paroxysm of delirious rage, Djalma saw the uncertain
light grow still fainter, as if it had been discreetly obscured, and,
through the vapory shadow that hung before him, he perceived the young
lady returning, clad in a long white dressing-gown, and with her golden
curls floating over her naked arms and shoulders.  She advanced
cautiously in the direction of a door which was hid from Djalma's view.
At this moment, one of the doors of the apartment in which the prince was
concealed was gently opened by an invisible hand.  Djalma noticed it by
the click of the lock, and by the current of fresh air which streamed
upon his face, for he could see nothing.  This door, left open for
Djalma, like that in the next room, to which the young lady had drawn
near, led to a sort of ante-chamber communicating with the stairs, which
some one now rapidly ascended, and, stopping short, knocked twice at the
outer door.

"Here comes Agricola Baudoin.  Look and listen!" said the same voice that
the prince had already heard.

Mad, intoxicated, but with the fixed idea and reckless determination of a
madman or a drunkard, Djalma drew the dagger which Faringhea had left in
his possession, and stood in motionless expectation.  Hardly were the two
knocks heard before the young lady quitted the apartment, from which
streamed a faint ray of light, ran to the door of the staircase, so that
some faint glimmer reached the place where Djalma stood watching, his
dagger in his hand.  He saw the young lady pass across the ante-chamber,
and approach the door of the staircase, where she said in a whisper: "Who
is there?"

"It is I--Agricola Baudoin," answered, from, without, a manly voice.

What followed was rapid as lightning, and must be conceived rather than
described.  Hardly had the young lady drawn the bolt of the door, hardly
had Agricola Baudoin stepped across the threshold, than Djalma, with the
bound of a tiger, stabbed as it were at once, so rapid were the strokes,
both the young lady, who fell dead on the floor, and Agricola, who sank,
dangerously wounded, by the side of the unfortunate victim.  This scene
of murder, rapid as thought, took place in the midst of a half obscurity.
Suddenly the faint light from the chamber was completely extinguished,
and a second after, Djalma felt his arm seized in the darkness by an iron
grasp, and the voice of Faringhea whispered: "You are avenged.  Come; we
can secure our retreat."  Inert, stupefied at what he had done, Djalma
offered no resistance, and let himself be dragged by the half-caste into
the inner apartment, from which there was another way out.

When Rodin had exclaimed, in his admiration of the generative power of
thought, that the word NECKLACE had been the germ of the infernal project
he then contemplated, it was, that chance had brought to his mind the
remembrance of the too famous affair of the diamond necklace, in which a
woman, thanks to her vague resemblance to Queen Marie Antoinette, being
dressed like that princess, and favored by the uncertainty of a twilight,
had played so skillfully the part of her unfortunate sovereign, as to
make the Cardinal Prince de Rohan, though familiar with the court, the
complete dupe of the illusion.  Having once determined on his execrable
design, Rodin had sent Jacques Dumoulin to Sainte-Colombe, without
telling him the real object of his mission, to ask this experienced woman
to procure a fine young girl, tall, and with red hair.  Once found, a
costume exactly resembling that worn by Adrienne, and of which the
Princess de Saint-Dizier gave the description to Rodin (though herself
ignorant of this new plot), was to complete the deception.  The rest is
known, or may be guessed.  The unfortunate girl, who acted as Adrienne's
double, believed she was only aiding in a jest.  As for Agricola, he had
received a letter, in which he was invited to a meeting that might be of
the greatest importance to Mdlle. de Cardoville.

[43] See the strange effect of hasheesh.  To the effect of this is
attributed the kind of hallucination which seized on those unhappy
persons, whom the Prince of the Assassins (the Old Man of the Mountain)
used as the instruments of his vengeance.




CHAPTER LXV.

THE NUPTIAL BED.

The mild light of a circular lamp of oriental alabaster, suspended from
the ceiling by three silver chains, spreads a faint lustre through the
bed-chamber of Adrienne de Cardoville.

The large ivory bedstead, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, is not at present
occupied, and almost disappears beneath snowy curtains of lace and
muslin, transparent and vapory as clouds.  On the white marble
mantlepiece, from beneath which the fire throws ruddy beams on the ermine
carpet, is the usual basket filled with a bush of red camellias, in the
midst of their shining green leaves.  A pleasant aromatic odor, rising
from a warm and perfumed bath in the next room, penetrates every corner
of the bed-chamber.  All without is calm and silent.  It is hardly eleven
o'clock.  The ivory door, opposite to that which leads to the bath-room,
opens slowly.  Djalma appears.  Two hours have elapsed since he committed
a double murder, and believed that he had killed Adrienne in a fit of
jealous fury.

The servants of Mdlle. de Cardoville, accustomed to Djalma's daily
visits, no longer announced his arrival, and admitted him without
difficulty, having received no orders to the contrary from their
mistress.  He had never before entered the bed-chamber, but, knowing that
the apartment the lady occupied was on the first floor of the house, he
had easily found it.  As he entered that virgin sanctuary, his
countenance was pretty calm, so well did he control his feelings, only a
slight paleness tarnished the brilliant amber of his complexion.  He wore
that day a robe of purple cashmere, striped with silver--a color which
did not show the stains of blood upon it.  Djalma closed the door after
him, and tore off his white turban, for it seemed to him as if a band of
hot iron encircled his brow.  His dark hair streamed around his handsome
face.  He crossed his arms upon his bosom, and looked slowly about him.
When his eyes rested on Adrienne's bed, he started suddenly, and his
cheek grew purple.  Then he drew his hand across his brow, hung down his
head, and remained standing for some moments in a dream, motionless as a
statue.

After a mournful silence of a few seconds' duration, Djalma fell upon his
knees, and raised his eyes to heaven.  The Asiatic's countenance was
bathed in tears, and no longer expressed any violent passion.  On his
features was no longer the stamp of hate, or despair, or the ferocious
joy of vengeance gratified.  It was rather the expression of grief at

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