undred Louis; every month a similar sum will
be provided: if it should not be found sufficient for your little
amusements, you will tell me, and it shall be augmented."

At a movement of Djalma, Rodin hastened to add: "I must tell you at
once, my dear prince, that your delicacy may be quite at ease. First
of all, you may accept anything from a mother; next, as in about three
months you will come into possession of an immense inheritance, it will
be easy for you, if you feel the obligation a burden--and the sum
cannot exceed, at the most, four or five thousand Louis--to repay these
advances. Spare nothing, then, but satisfy all your fancies. You are
expected to appear in the great world of Paris, in a style becoming the
son of a king who was called the Father of the Generous. So once again I
conjure you not to be restrained by a false delicacy; if this sum should
not be sufficient--"

"I will ask for more. My mother is right; the son of a monarch ought to
live royally."

Such was the answer of the Indian, made with perfect simplicity, and
without any appearance of astonishment at these magnificent offers. This
was natural. Djalma would have done for others what they were doing
for him, for the traditions of the prodigal magnificence and splendid
hospitality of Indian princes are well known. Djalma had been as moved
as grateful, on hearing that a woman loved him with maternal affection.
As for the luxury with which she nought to surround him, he accepted
it without astonishment and without scruple. This resignation, again,
somewhat disconcerted Rodin, who had prepared many excellent arguments
to persuade the Indian to accept his offers.

"Well, then, it's all agreed, my dear prince," resumed the Jesuit. "Now,
as you must see the world, it's just as well to enter by the best door,
as we say. One of the friends of your maternal protectress, the Count de
Montbron, an old nobleman of the greatest experience, and belonging
to the first society, will introduce you in some of the best houses in
Paris."

"Will you not introduce me, father?"

"Alas! my dear prince, look at me. Tell me, if you think I am fitted
for such an office. No! no; I live alone and retired from the world.
And then," added Rodin, after a short silence, fixing a penetrating,
attentive, and curious look upon the prince, as if he would have
subjected him to a sort of experiment by what follows; "and then, you
see, M. de Montbron will be better able than I