r that very reason you will have them at your feet. They will
feel themselves both terrified and charmed by all the violence and fury,
the rage of jealousy, the passion and the love, to which a man of your
blood, your youth, your ardor must be subject. To-day mild and tender,
to-morrow fierce and suspicious, another time ardent and passionate,
such you will be--and such you ought to be, if you wish to win them.
Yes; let a kiss of rage be heard between two kisses: let a dagger
glitter in the midst of caresses, and they will fall before you,
palpitating with pleasure, love, and fear--and you will be to them, not
a man, but a god."

"Dost think so?" cried Djalma, carried away in spite of himself by the
Thug's wild eloquence.

"You know, you feel, that I speak the truth," cried the latter,
extending his arm towards the young Indian.

"Why, yes!" exclaimed Djalma, his eyes sparkling, his nostrils swelling,
as he moved about the apartment with savage bounds. "I know not if I
possess my reason, or if I am intoxicated, but it seems to me that you
speak truth. Yes, I feel that they will love me with madness and fury,
because my love will be mad and furious they will tremble with pleasure
and fear, because the very thought of it makes me tremble with delight
and terror. Slave, it is true; there is something exciting and fearful
in such a love!" As he spoke forth these words, Djalma was superb in his
impetuous sensuality. It is a rare thing to see a young man arrive
in his native purity, at the age in which are developed, in all their
powerful energy, those admirable instincts of love, which God has
implanted in the heart of his creatures, and which, repressed,
disguised, or perverted, may unseat the reason, or generate mad excesses
and frightful crimes--but which, directed towards a great and noble
passion, may and must, by their very violence, elevate man, through
devotion and tenderness, to the limits of the ideal.

"Oh! this woman--this woman, before whom I am to tremble--and who,
in turn, must tremble before me--where is she?" cried Djalma, with
redoubled excitement. "Shall I ever find her?"

"One is a good deal, my lord," replied Faringhea, with his sardonic
coolness; "he who looks for one woman, will rarely succeed in this
country; he who seeks women, is only at a loss to choose."

As the half-caste made this impertinent answer to Djalma, a very elegant
blue-and-white carriage stopped before the garden-gate of the hou