The young prince remained dumb, either that, from an oriental contempt for certain races, he disdained to answer the half-caste, or that, absorbed in his reverie, he did not even hear him.The Strangler became again silent; crouching cross-legged upon the carpet, with his elbows resting on his knees, and his chin upon his hands, he kept his eyes fixed on Djalma, and seemed to await the reply or the orders of him whose sire had been surnamed the Father of the Generous.How had Faringhea, the sanguinary worshipper of Bowanee, the Divinity of Murder, been brought to seek or to accept such humble functions? How came this man, possessed of no vulgar talents, whose passionate eloquence and ferocious energy had recruited many assassins for the service of the Good Work, to resign himself to so base a condition? Why, too, had this man, who, profiting by the young prince's blindness with regard to himself, might have so easily sacrificed him as an offering to Bowanee--why had he spared the life of Radja-sings son? Why, in fine, did he expose himself to such frequent encounters with Rodin, whom he had only known under the most unfavorable auspices? The sequel of this story will answer all these questions.We can only say at present, that, after a long interview with Rodin, two nights before, the Thug had quitted him with downcast eyes and cautious bearing.
After having remained silent for some time, Djalma, following with his eye the cloud of whitish smoke that he had just sent forth into space, addressed Faringhea, without looking at him, and said to him in the language, as hyperbolical as concise, of Orientals: "Time passes.The old man with the good heart does not come.But he will come.His word is his word."
"His word is his word, my lord," repeated Faringhea, in an affirmative tone."When he came to fetch you, three days ago, from the house whither those wretches, m furtherance of their wicked designs, had conveyed you in a deep sleep--after throwing me, your watchful and devoted servant, into a similar state--he said to you: `The unknown friend, who sent for you to Cardoville Castle, bids me come to you, prince.Have confidence, and follow me.A worthy abode is prepared for you.'--And again, he said to you, my lord: `Consent not to leave the house, until my return.Your interest requires it.In three days you will see me again, and then be restored to perfect *******.' You consented to those terms, my lord, and for three days you have not left the house."
"And I wait for the old man with impatience," said Djalma, "for this solitude is heavy with me.There must be so many things to admire in Paris.Above all."
Djalma did not finish the sentence, but relapsed into a reverie.After some moments' silence, the son of Radja-sing said suddenly to Faringhea, in the tone of an impatient yet indolent sultan: "Speak to me!"
"Of what shall I speak, my lord?"
"Of what you will," said Djalma, with careless contempt, as he fixed on the ceiling his eyes, half-veiled with languor."One thought pursues me --I wish to be diverted from it.Speak to me."
Faringhea threw a piercing glance on the countenance of the young Indian, and saw that his cheeks were colored with a slight blush."My lord,"
said the half-caste, "I can guess your thought."
Djalma shook his head, without looking at the Strangler.The latter resumed: "You are thinking of the women of Paris, my lord."
Be silent, slave!" said Djalma, turning abruptly on the sofa, as if some painful wound had been touched to the quick.Faringhea obeyed.
After the lapse of some moments.Djalma broke forth again with impatience, throwing aside the tube of the hookah, and veiling both eyes with his hands: "Your words are better than silence.Cursed be my thoughts, and the spirit which calls up these phantoms!"
"Why should you fly these thoughts, my lord? You are nineteen years of age, and hitherto all your youth has been spent in war and captivity.Up to this time, you have remained as chaste as Gabriel, that young Christian priest, who accompanied us on our voyage."
Though Faringhea did not at all depart from his respectful deference for the prince, the latter felt that there was something of irony in the tone of the half-caste, as he pronounced the word "chaste."
Djalma said to him with a mixture of pride and severity: "I do not wish to pass for a barbarian, as they call us, with these civilized people;
therefore I glory in my chastity."
"I do not understand, my lord."
"I may perhaps love some woman, pure as was my mother when she married my father; and to ask for purity from a woman, a man must be chaste as she."
At this, Faringhea could not refrain from a sardonic smile.
"Why do you laugh, slave?" said the young prince, imperiously.
"Among civilized people, as you call them, my lord, the man who married in the flower of his innocence would be mortally wounded with ridicule."
"It is false, slave! He would only be ridiculous if he married one that was not pure as himself."
"Then, my lord, he would not only be wounded--he would be killed outright, for he would be doubly and unmercifully laughed at."
"It is false! it is false.Where did you learn all this?"
"I have seen Parisian women at the Isle of France, and at Pondicherry, my lord.Moreover, I learned a good deal during our voyage; I talked with a young officer, while you conversed with the young priest."
"So, like the sultans of our harems, civilized men require of women the innocence they have themselves lost."
"They require it the more, the less they have of it, my lord."
"To require without any return, is to act as a master to his slave; by what right?"
"By the right of the strongest--as it is among us, my lord."
"And what do the women do?"
"They prevent the men from being too ridiculous, when they marry, in the eyes of the world."
"But they kill a woman that is false?" said Djalma, raising himself abruptly, and fixing upon Faringhea a savage look, that sparkled with lurid fire.
"They kill her, my lord, as with us--when they find her out."