creatures are calculating
the effects of their refusals, and seeing how far they can go, without
quite driving their victim to despair. Oh! how cold and cowardly are
they, compared to the valiant, true-hearted women, who say to the men
of their choice: 'Let me be thine to-day-and to-morrow, come shame,
despair, and death--it matters little! Be happy! my life is not worth
one tear of thine!"

Djalma's brow had darkened, as he listened. Having kept inviolable the
secret of the various incidents of his passion for Mdlle. de Cardoville,
he could not but see in these words a quite involuntary allusion to the
delays and refusals of Adrienne. And yet Djalma suffered a moment in his
pride, at the thought of considerations and duties, that a woman holds
dearer than her love. But this bitter and painful thought was soon
effaced from the oriental's mind, thanks to the beneficent influence of
the remembrance of Adrienne. His brow again cleared, and he answered
the half-caste, who was watching him attentively with a sidelong glance:
"You are deluded by grief. If you have no other reason to doubt her you
love, than these refusals and vague suspicions, be satisfied! You are
perhaps loved better than you can imagine."

"Alas! would it were so, my lord!" replied the half-caste, dejectedly,
as if he had been deeply touched by the words of Djalma. "Yet I say
to myself: There is for this woman something stronger than her
love--delicacy, dignity, honor, what you will--but she does not love me
enough to sacrifice for me this something!"

"Friend, you are deceived," answered Djalma, mildly, though the words
affected him with a painful impression. "The greater the love of a
woman, the more it should be chaste and noble. It is love itself that
awakens this delicacy and these scruples. He rules, instead of being
ruled."

"That is true," replied the half-caste, with bitter irony, "Love so
rules me, that this woman bids me love in her own fashion, and I have
only to submit."

Pausing suddenly, Faringhea hid his face in his hands, and heaved a deep
drawn sigh. His features expressed a mixture of hate, rage, and despair,
at once so terrible and so painful, that Djalma, more and more affected,
exclaimed, as he seized the other's hand: "Calm this fury, and listen to
the voice of friendship! It will disperse this evil influence. Speak to
me!"

"No, no! it is too dreadful!"

"Speak, I bid thee."

"No! leave the wretch to his despair!"

"Do