letter he had received the night before from the hands of Dupont. Djalma was not alone. Faringhea watched all the movements of the prince, with a subtle, attentive, and gloomy aspect. Standing respectfully in a corner of the saloon, the half-caste appeared to be occupied in unfolding and spreading out Djalma's sash, light, silky Indian web, the brown ground of which was almost entirely concealed by the exquisite gold and silver embroidery with which it was overlaid.
The countenance of the half-caste wore a dark and gloomy expression. He could not deceive himself. The letter from Mdlle. de Cardoville, delivered by Dupont to Djalma, must have been the cause of the delight he now experienced, for, without doubt, he knew himself beloved. In that event, his obstinate silence towards Faringhea, ever since the latter had entered the saloon, greatly alarmed the half-caste, who could not tell what interpretation to put upon it. The night before, after parting with Dupont, he had hastened, in a state of anxiety easily understood, to look for the prince, in the hope of ascertaining the effect produced by Mdlle. de Cardoville's letter. But he found the parlor door closed, and when he knocked, he received no answer from within. Then, though the night was far advanced, he had dispatched a note to Rodin, in which he informed him of Dupont's visit and its probable intention. Djalma had indeed passed the night in a tumult of happiness and hope, and a fever of impatience quite impossible to describe. Repairing to his bed-chamber only towards the morning, he had taken a few moments of repose, and had then dressed himself without assistance.
Many times, but in vain, the half-caste had discreetly knocked at the door of Djalma's apartment. It was only in the early part of the afternoon that the prince had rung the bell to order his carriage to be ready by half-past two. Faringhea having presented himself, the prince had given him the order without looking at him, as he might have done to any other of his servants. Was this suspicion, aversion, or mere absence of mind on the part of Djalma? Such were the questions which the half caste put to himself with growing anguish; for the designs of which he was the most active and immediate instrument might all be ruined by the least suspicion in the prince.
'Oh! the hours—the hours—how slow they are!' cried the young Indian, suddenly, in a low and trembling voice.
'The day before yesterday, my lord, you said the hours were very long,' observed Faringhea, as he drew near Djalma in order to attract his attention. Seeing that he did not succeed in this he advanced a few steps nearer, and resumed: 'Your joy seems very great, my lord; tell the cause of it to your poor and faithful servant, that he also may rejoice with you.'
If he heard the words, Djalma did not pay any attention to them. He made no answer, and his large black eyes gazed upon vacancy. He seemed to smile admiringly upon some enchanting vision, and he folded his two hands upon his bosom, in the attitude which his countrymen assume at the hour of prayer. After some instants of contemplation, he said: 'What o'clock is it?'—but he asked this question of himself, rather than of any third person.
'It will soon be two o'clock, my lord,' said Faringhea.
Having heard this answer, Djalma seated himself, and hid his face in his hands, as if completely absorbed in some ineffable meditation. Urged on by his growing anxiety, and wishing at any cost to attract the attention of Djalma, Faringhea approached still nearer to him, and, almost certain of the effect of the words he was about to utter, said to him in a slow and emphatic voice: 'My lord, I am sure that you owe the happiness which now transports you to Mdlle. de Cardoville.'
Hardly had this name been pronounced, than Djalma started from his chair, looked the half-breed full in the face, and exclaimed, as if only just aware of his presence, 'Faringhea! you here!—what is the matter?'
'Your faithful servant shares in your joy, my lord.'
'What joy?'
'That which the letter of Mdlle. de Cardoville has occasioned, my lord.'
Djalma returned no answer, but his eye shone with so much serene happiness, that the half-caste recovered from his apprehensions. No cloud of doubt or suspicion obscured the radiant features of the prince. After a few moments of silence, Djalma fixed upon the half-caste a look half-veiled with a tear of joy, and said to him, with the expression of one whose heart overflows with love and happiness: 'Oh! such delight is good—great—like heaven!— for it is heaven which—'
'You deserve this happiness, my lord, after so many sufferings.'
'What sufferings?—Oh! yes. I formerly suffered at Java; but that was years ago.'
'My lord, this great good fortune does not astonish me. What have I always told you? Do not despair; feign a violent passion for some other woman, and then this proud young lady—'
At these words Djalma looked at the half-caste with so piercing a glance, that the latter stopped short; but the prince said to him with affectionate goodness, 'Go on! I listen.'
Then, leaning his chin upon his hand, and his elbow on his knee, he gazed so intently on Faringhea, and yet with such unutterable mildness, that even that iron soul was touched for a moment with a slight feeling of remorse.
'I was saying, my lord,' he resumed, 'that by following the counsels of your faithful slave, who persuaded you to feign a passionate love for another woman, you have brought the proud Mdlle. de Cardoville to come to you. Did I not tell you it would be so?'
'Yes, you did tell me so,' answered Djalma, still maintaining the same position, and examining the half-caste with the same fixed and mild attention.
The surprise of Faringhea increased; generally, the prince, without treating him with the least harshness, preserved the somewhat distant and imperious manners of their common country, and he had never before spoken to him with such extreme mildness. Knowing all the evil he had done the prince, and suspicious as the wicked must ever be, the half-caste thought for a moment, that his master's apparent kindness might conceal a snare. He continued, therefore, with less assurance, 'Believe me, my lord, this 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.'
