to recollect his
visitor. Still bending over his desk, he seemed not to seen Faringhea,
but wrote hastily some words on a sheet of paper that lay before him.

"Sir," said the servant, astonished at the silence of Rodin, "here is
the person."

Rodin folded the note that he had so precipitately written, and said to
the servant: "Let this be taken to its address. Wait for an answer."

The servant bowed, and went out. Then Rodin, without rising, fixed his
little reptile-eyes on Faringhea, and said to him courteously: "To whom,
sir, have I the honor of speaking?"

CHAPTER XVI. THE TWO BROTHERS OF THE GOOD WORK.

Faringhea, as we have before stated, though born in India, had travelled
a good deal, and frequented the European factories in different parts
of Asia. Speaking well both English and French, and full of intelligence
and sagacity, he was perfectly civilized.

Instead of answering Rodin's question, he turned upon him a fixed and
searching look. The socius, provoked by this silence, and forseeing
vaguely that Faringhea's arrival had some connection--direct or
indirect--with Djalma, repeated, though still with the greatest
coolness: "To whom, sir, have I the honor of speaking?"

"Do you not recognize me," said Faringhea, advancing two steps nearer to
Rodin's chair.

"I do not think I have ever had the honor of seeing you," answered the
other, coldly.

"But I recognize you," said Faringhea; "I saw you at Cardoville Castle
the day that a ship and a steamer were wrecked together."

"At Cardoville Castle? It is very possible, sir. I was there when a
shipwreck took place."

"And that day I called you by your name, and you asked me what I
wanted. I replied: 'Nothing now, brother--hereafter, much.' The time has
arrived. I have come to ask for much."

"My dear sir," said Rodin, still impassible, "before we continue this
conversation, which appears hitherto tolerably obscure, I must repeat my
wish to be informed to whom I have the advantage of speaking. You have
introduced yourself here under pretext of a commission from Mynheer
Joshua Van Dael, a respectable merchant of Batavia, and--"

"You know the writing of M. Van Dael?" said Faringhea, interrupting
Rodin.

"I know it perfectly."

"Look!" The half-caste drew from his pocket (he was shabbily dressed in
European clothes) a long dispatch, which he had taken from one Mahal the
Smuggler, after strangling him on the beach near Batavia. These papers
he pla