'Yes, I see them; but what then?' replied Adrienne, in a firm tone.
'And don't you observe anything remarkable?' said the marchioness.
'Don't be too hard, ladies,' laughingly interposed the marquis; 'we ought to allow the poor foreigners some little indulgence. They are ignorant of our manners and customs; were it not for that, they would never appear in the face of all Paris in such dubious company.'
'Indeed,' said Adrienne, with a bitter smile, 'their simplicity is touching; we must pity them.'
'And, unfortunately, the girl is charming, spite of her low dress and bare arms,' said the marchioness; 'she cannot be more than sixteen or seventeen at most. Look at her, my dear Adrienne; what a pity!'
'It is one of your charitable days, my dear Julia,' answered Adrienne; 'we are to pity the Indians, to pity this creature, and—pray, whom else are we to pity?'
'We will not pity that handsome Indian, in his red-and-gold turban,' said the marquis, laughing, 'for, if this goes on, the girl with the cherry colored ribbons will be giving him a kiss. See how she leans towards her sultan.'
'They are very amusing,' said the marchioness, sharing the hilarity of her husband, and looking at Rose- Pompom through her glass; then she resumed, in about a minute, addressing herself to Adrienne: 'I am quite certain of one thing. Notwithstanding her giddy airs, that girl is very fond of her Indian. I just saw a look that expresses a great deal.'
'Why so much penetration, my dear Julia?' said Adrienne, mildly; 'what interest have we to read the heart of that girl?'
'Why, if she loves her sultan, she is quite in the right,' said the marquis, looking through his opera-glass in turn; 'for, in my whole life, I never saw a more handsome fellow than that Indian. I can only catch his side-face, but the profile is pure and fine as an antique cameo. Do you not think so?' added the marquis, leaning towards Adrienne. 'Of course, it is only as a matter of art, that I permit myself to ask you the question.'
'As a work of art,' answered Adrienne, 'it is certainly very fine.'
'But see!' said the marchioness; 'how impertinent the little creature is!—She is actually staring at us.'
'Well!' said the marquis; 'and she is actually laying her hand quite unceremoniously on her sultan's shoulder, to make him share, no doubt, in her admiration of you ladies.'
In fact, Djalma, until now occupied with the contemplation of the scene which reminded him of his country, had remained insensible to the enticements of Rose-Pompon, and had not yet perceived Adrienne.
'Well, now!' said Rose-Pompon, bustling herself about in front of the box, and continuing to stare at Mdlle. de Cardoville, for it was she, and not the marchioness, who now drew her attention; 'that is something quite out of the common way—a pretty woman, with red hair; but such sweet red, it must be owned. Look, Prince Charming!'
And so saying, she tapped Djalma lightly on the shoulder; he started at these words, turned round, and for the first time perceived Mdlle. de Cardoville.
Though he had been almost prepared for this meeting, the prince was so violently affected by it, that he was about involuntarily to rise, in a state of the utmost confusion; but he felt the iron hand of Faringhea laid heavily on his shoulder, and heard him whisper in Hindostanee: 'Courage! and by to-morrow she will be at your feet.'
As Djalma still struggled to rise, the half-caste added to restrain him: 'Just now, she grew pale and red with jealousy. No weakness, or all is lost!'
'So! there you are again, talking your dreadful gibberish,' said Rose Pompon, turning round towards Faringhea. 'First of all, it is not polite; and then the language is so odd, that one might suppose you were cracking nuts.'
'I spoke of you to my master,' said the half-caste; 'he is preparing a surprise for you.'
'A surprise? oh! that is different. Only make haste—do you hear, Prince Charming!' added she, looking tenderly at Djalma.
'My heart is breaking,' said Djalma, in a hollow voice to Faringhea, still using the language of India.
'But to-morrow it will bound with joy and love,' answered the half-caste. 'It is only by disdain that you can conquer a proud woman. To-morrow, I tell you, she will be trembling, confused, supplicating, at your feet!'
'To-morrow, she will hate me like death!' replied the prince, mournfully.
'Yes, were she now to see you weak and cowardly. It is now too late to draw back; look full at her, take the nosegay from this girl, and raise it to your lips. Instantly, you will see yonder woman, proud as she is, grow pale and red, as just now. Then will you believe me?'
Reduced by despair to make almost any attempt, and fascinated, in spite of himself, by the diabolical hints of Faringhea, Djalma looked for a second full at Mdlle. de Cardoville; then, with a trembling hand he took the bouquet from Rose-Pompon, and, again looking at Adrienne, pressed it to his lips.
Upon this insolent bravado, Mdlle. de Cardoville could not restrain so sudden and visible a pang, that the prince was struck by it.
'She is yours,' said the half-caste, to him. 'Did you see, my lord, how she trembled with jealousy?—Only have courage! and she is yours. She will soon prefer you to that handsome young man behind her—for it is he whom she has hitherto fancied herself in love with.'
As if the half-caste had guessed the movement of rage and hatred, which this revelation would excite in the heart of the prince, he hastily added: 'Calmness and disdain! Is it not his turn now to hate you?'
The prince restrained himself, and drew his hand across his forehead which glowed with anger.
'There now! what are you telling him, that vexes him so?' said Rose Pompon to Faringhea, with pouting lip. Then, addressing Djalma, she continued: 'Come, Prince Charming, as they say in the fairy-tale, give me back my flowers.'
As she took it again, she added: 'You have kissed it, and I could almost eat it.' Then, with a sigh, and a passionate glance at Djalma, she said softly to herself: 'That monster Ninny Moulin did not deceive me. All this is quite proper; I have not even that to reproach myself with.' And with her little white teeth, she bit at a rosy nail of her right hand, from which she had just drawn the glove.
It is hardly necessary to say, that Adrienne's letter had not been delivered to the prince, and that he had not gone to pass the day in the country with Marshal Simon. During the three days in which Montbron had not seen Djalma, Faringhea had persuaded him, that, by affecting another passion, he would bring Mdlle. de Cardoville to terms. With regard to Djalma's presence at the theatre, Rodin had learned from her maid, Florine, that her mistress was to go in the evening to the Porte-Saint Martin. Before Djalma had recognized her, Adrienne, who felt her strength failing her, was on the point of quitting the theatre; the man, whom she had hitherto placed so high, whom she had regarded as a hero and a demi-god and whom she had imagined plunged in such dreadful despair, that, led by the most tender pity, she had written to him with simple frankness, that a sweet hope might calm his grief— replied to a generous mark of sincerity and love, by making himself a ridiculous spectacle with a creature unworthy of him. What incurable wounds for Adrienne's pride! It mattered little, whether Djalma knew or not, that she would be a spectator of the indignity. But when she saw herself recognized by the prince, when he carried the insult so far as to look full at her, and, at the same time, raise to his lips the creature's bouquet who accompanied him, Adrienne was seized with noble indignation, and felt sufficient courage to remain: instead of closing her eyes to evidence, she found a sort of barbarous pleasure in assisting at the agony and death of her pure and divine love. With head erect, proud and flashing eye, flushed cheek, and curling lip, she looked in her turn at the prince with disdainful steadiness. It was with a sardonic smile that she said to the marchioness, who, like many others of the spectators was occupied with what was passing in the stage-box: 'This revolting exhibition of savage manners is at least in accordance with the rest of the performance.'
'Certainly,' said the marchioness; 'and my dear uncle will have lost, perhaps, the most amusing part.'
'Montbron?' said Adrienne, hastily, with hardly repressed bitterness; 'yes, he will regret not having seen all. I am impatient for his arrival. Is it not to him that I am indebted for his charming evening?'
Perhaps Madame de Morinval would have remarked the expression of bitter irony, that Adrienne could not altogether dissemble, if suddenly a hoarse and prolonged roar had net attracted her attention, as well as that of the rest of the audience, who had hitherto been quite indifferent to the scenes intended for an introduction to the appearance of Morok. Every eye was now turned instinctively towards the cavern situated to the left of the stage, just below Mdlle. de Cardoville's box; a thrill of curiosity ran through the house. A second roar, deeper and more sonorous, and apparently expressive of more irritation than the first, now rose from the cave, the mouth of which was half-hidden by artificial brambles, made so as to be easily put on one side. At this sound, the Englishman stood up in his little box, leaned half over the front, and began to rub his hands with great energy; then, remaining
