lready beneath the nails. Death was approaching, slowly, almost
insensibly, but not the less certain. Overwhelmed with despair at the
thought that Adrienne, too, was about to die, Djalma felt his courage
fail him. He uttered a long groan, and hid his face in his hands. His
knees shook under him, and he felt down upon the bed, near which he was
standing.

"Already?" cried the young lady in horror, as she threw herself on her
knees at Djalma's feet. "Death already? Do you hide your face from me?"

In her fright, she pulled his hands from before his face. That face was
bathed in tears.

"No, not yet," murmured he, through his sobs. "The poison is slow."

"Really!" cried Adrienne, with ineffable joy. Then, kissing the hands of
Djalma, she added tenderly, "If the poison is slow, why do you weep?"

"For you! for you!" said the Indian, in a heart-rending tone.

"Think not of me," replied Adrienne, resolutely. "You have killed, and we
must expiate the crime. I know not what has taken place; but I swear by
our love that you did not do evil for evil's sake. There is some horrible
mystery in all this."

"On a pretence which I felt bound to believe," replied Djalma, speaking
quickly, and panting for breath, "Faringhea led me to a certain house.
Once there, he told me that you had betrayed me. I did not believe him,
but I know not what strange dizziness seized upon me--and then, through a
half-obscurity, I saw you--"

"Me!"

"No--not you--but a woman resembling you, dressed like you, so that I
believed the illusion--and then there came a man--and you flew to meet
him--and I--mad with rage--stabbed her, stabbed him, saw them fall--and
so came here to die. And now I find you only to cause your death. Oh,
misery! misery! that you should die through me!"

And Djalma, this man of formidable energy, began again to weep with the
weakness of a child. At sight of this deep, touching, passionate despair,
Adrienne, with that admirable courage which women alone possess in love,
thought only of consoling Djalma. By an effort of superhuman passion, as
the prince revealed to her this infernal plot, the lady's countenance
became so splendid with an expression of love and happiness, that the
East Indian looked at her in amazement, fearing for an instant that he
must have lost his reason.

"No more tears, my adored!" cried the young lady, exultingly. "No more
tears--but only smiles of joy and love! Our cruel enemies shall not
triumph!"