so, dear prince."

The countenance of Djalma immediately assumed an appearance of sorrowful
dignity; he raised his head proudly, and said in a stern and haughty
voice: "Since this friend hides himself from me, he must either be
ashamed of me, or there is reason for me to be ashamed of him. I only
accept hospitality from those who are worthy of me, and who think me
worthy of them. I leave this house." So saying, Djalma rose with such
an air of determination, that Rodin exclaimed: "Listen to me, my dear
prince. Allow me to tell you, that your petulance and touchiness are
almost incredible. Though we have endeavored to remind you of your
beautiful country, we are here in Europe, in France, in the centre of
Paris. This consideration may perhaps a little modify your views. Listen
to me, I conjure you."

Notwithstanding his complete ignorance of certain social
conventionalisms, Djalma had too much good sense and uprightness, not
to appreciate reason, when it appeared reasonable. The words of Rodin
calmed him. With that ingenuous modesty, with which natures full of
strength and generosity are almost always endowed, he answered mildly:
"You are right, father. I am no longer in my own country. Here the
customs are different. I will reflect upon it."

Notwithstanding his craft and suppleness, Rodin sometimes found himself
perplexed by the wild and unforseen ideas of the young Indian. Thus he
saw, to his great surprise, that Djalma now remained pensive for some
minutes, after which he resumed in a calm but firm tone: "I have obeyed
you, father: I have reflected."

"Well, my dear prince?"

"In no country in the world, under no pretext, should a man of honor
conceal his friendship for another man of honor."

"But suppose there should be danger in avowing this friendship?" said
Rodin, very uneasy at the turn the conversation was taking. Djalma eyed
the Jesuit with contemptuous astonishment, and made no reply.

"I understand your silence, my dear prince: a brave man ought to defy
danger. True; but if it should be you that the danger threatens, in
case this friendship were discovered, would not your man of honor be
excusable, even praiseworthy, to persist in remaining unknown?"

"I accept nothing from a friend, who thinks me capable of denying him
from cowardice."

"Dear prince--listen to me."

"Adieu, father."

"Yet reflect!"

"I have said it," replied Djalma, in an abrupt and almost sovereign
tone, as he walked towar