h him with his conduct, when she
perceived the dagger, which he had thrown down upon the ermine carpet.
At sight of this weapon, and the expression of fear and stupor which
petrified the features of Djalma, who remained kneeling, motionless,
with his body thrown back, hands stretched out, his eyes fixed and
wildly staring Adrienne, no longer dreading an amorous surprise, was
seized with an indescribable terror, and, instead of flying from the
prince, advanced several steps towards him, and said, in an agitated
voice, whilst she pointed to the kandjiar, "My friend, why are you here?
what ails you? why this dagger?"

Djalma made no answer. At first, the presence of Adrienne seemed to him
a vision, which he attributed to the excitement of his brain, already
(it might be) under the influence of the poison. But when the soft voice
sounded in his ears--when his heart bounded with the species of electric
shock, which he always felt when he met the gaze of that woman so
ardently beloved--when he had contemplated for an instant that
adorable face, so fresh and fair, in spite of its expression of deep
uneasiness--Djalma understood that he was not the sport of a dream, but
that Mdlle. de Cardoville was really before his eyes.

Then, as he began fully to grasp the thought that Adrienne was not dead,
though he could not at all explain the prodigy of her resurrection, the
Hindoo's countenance was transfigured, the pale gold of his complexion
became warm and red, his eyes (tarnished by tears of remorse) shone with
new radiance, and his features, so lately contracted with terror and
despair, expressed all the phases of the most ecstatic joy. Advancing,
still on his knees, towards Adrienne, he lifted up to her his trembling
hands, and, too deeply affected to pronounce a word, he gazed on her
with so much amazement, love, adoration, gratitude, that the young lady,
fascinated by those inexplicable looks, remained mute also, motionless
also, and felt, by the precipitate beating of her heart, and by the
shudder which ran through her frame, that there was here some dreadful
mystery to be unfolded.

At last, Djalma, clasping his hands together, exclaimed with an accent
impossible to describe, "Thou art not dead!"

"Dead!" repeated the young lady, in amazement.

"It was not thou, really not thou, whom I killed? God is kind and just!"

And as he pronounced these words with intense joy, the unfortunate youth
forgot the victim whom he had s