nt. 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 still turned
towards Djalma, arranged her hair with graceful art, took off the network
which formed her head-dress, placed it on the chimney-piece, and began to
unfasten her gown; then, withdrawing from the looking-glass, she
disappeared for an instant from Djalma's view.

"She is expecting Agricola Baudoin, her lover," said a voice, which
seemed to proceed f