, like Adrienne, a thousand reasons
for being absorbed in the contemplation of a picturesque set scene.
The public attention was still more excited when they saw the box which
Faringhea had just left, entered by a youth of rare beauty, also dressed
Oriental fashion, in a long robe of white Cashmere with flowing sleeves,
with a scarlet turban striped with gold on his head, and a sash to
correspond, in which was stuck a long dagger, glittering with precious
stones. This young man was Prince Djalma. For an instant he remained
standing at the door, and cast a look of indifference upon the immense
theatre, crowded with people; then, stepping forward with a majestic
and tranquil air, the prince seated himself negligently on one of the
chairs, and, turning his head in a few moments towards the entrance,
appeared surprised at not seeing some person whom he doubtless expected.
This person appeared at length; the boxkeeper had been assisting her to
take off her cloak. She was a charming, fair-haired girl, attired
with more show than taste, in a dress of white silk, with broad
cherry-colored stripes, made ultra fashionably low, and with short
sleeves; a large bow of cherry-colored ribbon was placed on each side
of her light hair, and set off the prettiest, sprightliest, most wilful
little face in the world.

It was Rose-Pompon. Her pretty arms were partly covered by long white
gloves, and ridiculously loaded with bracelets: in her hand she carried
an enormous bouquet of roses.

Far from imitating the calm demeanor of Djalma, Rose-Pompon skipped into
the box, moved the chairs about noisily, and fidgeted on her seat for
some time, to display her fine dress; then, without being in the least
intimidated by the presence of the brilliant assembly, she, with a
little coquettish air, held her bouquet towards Djalma, that he might
smell it, and appeared finally to establish herself on her seat.
Faringhea came in, shut the door of the box, and seated himself behind
the prince. Adrienne, still completely absorbed in the contemplation of
the Indian forest, and in her own sweet thoughts, had not observed the
newcomers. As she was turning her head completely towards the stage, and
Djalma could not, for the moment, see even her profile, he, on his side,
had not recognized Mdlle. de Cardoville.

CHAPTER XIV. DEATH.

The pantomime opening, by which was introduced the combat of Morok with
the black panther, was so unmeaning, that the majo