the monotonous delights of a single love, the heavy chain of
our life--no, it would be the thousand pleasures of the harem--a harem
peopled with free and proud beauties, whom happy love would make your
slaves. So long constrained, there is no such thing as excess to you.
Believe me, it would then be you, the ardent, the magnificent son of our
country, that would become the love and pride of these women--the most
seductive in the world, who would soon have for you no looks but those
of languor and passion."

Djalma had listened to Faringhea with silent eagerness. The expression
of his features had completely changed; it was no longer the melancholy
and dreaming youth, invoking the sacred remembrance of his mother,
and finding only in the dew of heaven, in the calyx of flowers, images
sufficiently pure to paint the chastity of the love he dreamed of; it
was no longer even the young man, blushing with a modest ardor at the
thought of the permitted joys of a legitimate union. No! the incitements
of Faringhea had kindled a subterraneous fire; the inflamed countenance
of Djalma, his eyes now sparkling and now veiled, his manly and sonorous
respiration, announced the heat of his blood, the boiling up of
the passions, only the more energetic, that they had been hitherto
restrained.

So, springing suddenly from the divan, supple, vigorous, and light as
a young tiger, Djalma clutched Faringhea by the throat exclaiming: "Thy
words are burning poison!"

"My lord," said Faringhea, without opposing the least resistance, "your
slave is your slave." This submission disarmed the prince.

"My life belongs to you," repeated the half-caste.

"I belong to you, slave!" cried Djalma, repulsing him. "Just now, I hung
upon your lips, devouring your dangerous lies."

"Lies, my lord? Only appear before these women, and their looks will
confirm my words."

"These women love me!--me, who have only lived in war and in the woods?"

"The thought that you, so young, have already waged bloody war on men
and tigers, will make them adore, my lord."

"You lie!"

"I tell you, my lord, on seeing your hand, as delicate as theirs, but
which has been so often bathed in hostile blood, they will wish to
caress it; and they will kiss it again, when they think that, in our
forests, with loaded rifle, and a poniard between your teeth, you smiled
at the roaring of a lion or panther for whom you lay in wait."

"But I am a savage--a barbarian."

"And fo