hut out the view of a too enchanting vision. Suddenly,
without knocking at the door, as usual, Faringhea entered the prince's
apartment.

At the noise the half-caste made in entering Djalma started, raised
his head, and looked round him with surprise; but, on seeing the pale
agitated countenance of the slave, he rose hastily, and advancing
towards him, exclaimed, "What is the matter, Faringhea!"

After a moment's silence, and as if struggling with a painful feeling of
hesitation, Faringhea threw himself at the feet of Djalma, and murmured
in a weak, despairing, almost supplicating voice: "I am very miserable.
Pity me, my good lord!"

The tone was so touching, the grief under which the half-breed suffered
seemed to give to his features, generally fixed and hard as bronze,
such a heart-rending expression, that Djalma was deeply affected, and,
bending to raise him from the ground, said to him, in a kindly voice:
"Speak to me! Confidence appeases the torments of the heart. Trust me,
friend--for my angel herself said to me, that happy love cannot bear to
see tears about him."

"But unhappy love, miserable love, betrayed love--weeps tears of blood,"
replied Faringhea, with painful dejection.

"Of what love dost thou speak?" asked Djalma, in surprise.

"I speak of my love," answered the half-caste, with a gloomy air.

"Of your love?" said Djalma, more and more astonished; not that the half
caste, still young, and with a countenance of sombre beauty, appeared
to him incapable of inspiring or feeling the tender passion, but that,
until now, he had never imagined him capable of conceiving so deep a
sorrow.

"My lord," resumed the half-caste, "you told me, that misfortune had
made me wicked, and that happiness would make me good. In those words,
I saw a presentiment, and a noble love entered my heart, at the moment
when hatred and treachery departed from it. I, the half-savage, found a
woman, beautiful and young, to respond to my passion. At least I thought
so. But I had betrayed you, my lord, and there is no happiness for
a traitor, even though he repent. In my turn, I have been shamefully
betrayed."

Then, seeing the surprise of the prince, the half-caste added, as if
overwhelmed with confusion: "Do not mock me, my lord! The most frightful
tortures would not have wrung this confession from me; but you, the son
of a king, deigned to call the poor slave your friend!"

"And your friend thanks you for the confidence," an