this window, and through which the faint light was now gradually
spreading, was richly furnished. Between two windows, hung with crimson
silk curtains, stood a kind of wardrobe, with a looking-glass front;
opposite the fireplace in which glowed the burning coals, was a long,
wide divan, furnished with cushions.

In another second a woman entered this apartment. Her face and figure
were invisible, being wrapped in a long, hooded mantle, of peculiar
form, and a dark color. The sight of this mantle made Djalma start. To
the pleasure he at first felt succeeded a feverish anxiety, like the
growing fumes of intoxication. There was that strange buzzing in his
ears which we experience when we plunge into deep waters. It was in a
kind of delirium that Djalma looked on at what was passing in the next
room. The woman who had just appeared entered with caution, almost with
fear. Drawing aside one of the window curtains, she glanced through
the closed blinds into the street. Then she returned slowly to the
fireplace, where she stood for a moment pensive, still carefully
enveloped in her mantle. Completely yielding to the influence of the
vapor, which deprived him of his presence of mind--forgetting Faringhea,
and all the circumstances that had accompanied his arrival at this
house--Djalma concentrated all the powers of his attention on the
spectacle before him, at which he seemed to be present as in a dream.

Suddenly Djalma saw the woman leave the fireplace and advance towards
the looking-glass. Turning her face toward it, she allowed the mantle
to glide down to her feet. Djalma was thunderstruck. He saw the face
of Adrienne de Cardoville. Yes, Adrienne, as he had seen her the night
before, attired as during her interview with the Princess de Saint
Dizier--the light green dress, the rose-colored ribbons, the white
head ornaments. A network of white beads concealed her back hair, and
harmonized admirably with the shining gold of her ringlets. Finally, as
far as the Hindoo could judge through the railing and the thick glass,
and in the faint light, it was the figure of Adrienne, with her marble
shoulders and swan-like neck, so proud and so graceful. In a word, he
could not, he did not doubt that it was Adrienne de Cardoville. Djalma
was bathed in a burning dew, his dizzy excitement increased, and, with
bloodshot eye and heaving bosom, he remained motionless, gazing almost
without the power of thought. The young lady, with her back s