d a fever
of impatience quite impossible to describe. Repairing to his bed-chamber
only towards the morning, he had taken a few moments of repose, and had
then dressed himself without assistance.

Many times, but in vain, the half-caste had discreetly knocked at
the door of Djalma's apartment. It was only in the early part of the
afternoon that the prince had rung the bell to order his carriage to be
ready by half-past two. Faringhea having presented himself, the prince
had given him the order without looking at him, as he might have done to
any other of his servants. Was this suspicion, aversion, or mere absence
of mind on the part of Djalma? Such were the questions which the half
caste put to himself with growing anguish; for the designs of which he
was the most active and immediate instrument might all be ruined by the
least suspicion in the prince.

"Oh! the hours--the hours--how slow they are!" cried the young Indian,
suddenly, in a low and trembling voice.

"The day before yesterday, my lord, you said the hours were very long,"
observed Faringhea, as he drew near Djalma in order to attract his
attention. Seeing that he did not succeed in this he advanced a few
steps nearer, and resumed: "Your joy seems very great, my lord; tell the
cause of it to your poor and faithful servant, that he also may rejoice
with you."

If he heard the words, Djalma did not pay any attention to them. He made
no answer, and his large black eyes gazed upon vacancy. He seemed to
smile admiringly upon some enchanting vision, and he folded his two
hands upon his bosom, in the attitude which his countrymen assume at
the hour of prayer. After some instants of contemplation, he said: "What
o'clock is it?"--but he asked this question of himself, rather than of
any third person.

"It will soon be two o'clock, my lord," said Faringhea.

Having heard this answer, Djalma seated himself, and hid his face in his
hands, as if completely absorbed in some ineffable meditation. Urged on
by his growing anxiety, and wishing at any cost to attract the attention
of Djalma, Faringhea approached still nearer to him, and, almost certain
of the effect of the words he was about to utter, said to him in a slow
and emphatic voice: "My lord, I am sure that you owe the happiness which
now transports you to Mdlle. de Cardoville."

Hardly had this name been pronounced, than Djalma started from his
chair, looked the half-breed full in the face, and exclaimed, as