"No matter! I have swallowed as much as you," said Adrienne, with an air of gloomy triumph.
For an instant, there followed an awful silence.Adrienne and Djalma gazed upon each other, mute, motionless, horror-struck.The young lady was the first to break this mournful silence, and said in a tone which she tried to make calm and steady, "Well! what is there extraordinary in this? You have killed, and death most expiate your crime.It is just.
I will not survive you.That also is natural enough.Why look at me thus? This poison has a sharp taste--does it act quickly! Tell me, my Djalma!"
The prince did not answer.Shuddering through all his frame, he looked down upon his hands.Faringhea had told the truth; a slight violet tint appeared already 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!"
"What do you say?"
"They wished to make us miserable.We pity them.Our felicity shall be the envy of the world!"
"Adrienne--bethink you--"
"Oh! I have all my senses about me.Listen to me, my adored! I now understand it all.Falling into a snare, which these wretches spread for you, you have committed murder.Now, in this country, murder leads to infamy, or the scaffold--and to-morrow--to-night, perhaps--you would be thrown into prison.But our enemies have said: `A man like Prince Djalma does not wait for infamy --he kills himself.A woman like Adrienne de Cardoville does not survive the disgrace or death of her lover--she prefers to die.Therefore a frightful death awaits them both," said the black-robed men; 'and that immense inheritance, which we covet--'"
"And for you--so young, so beautiful so innocent--death is frightful, and these monsters triumph!" cried Djalma."They have spoken the truth!"
"They have lied!" answered Adrienne."Our death shall be celestial.
This poison is slow--and I adore you, my Djalma!"
She spoke those words in a low voice, trembling with passionate love, and, leaning upon Djalma's knees, approached so near, that he felt her warm breath upon his cheek.As he felt that breath, and saw the humid flame that darted from the large, swimming eyes of Adrienne, whose half-
opened lips were becoming of a still deeper and brighter hue, the Indian started--his young blood boiled in his veins--he forgot everything--his despair, and the approach of death, which as yet (as with Adrienne), only showed itself in a kind of feverish ardor.His face, like the young girl's, became once more splendidly beautiful.
"Oh, my lover! my husband! how beautiful you are!" said Adrienne, with idolatry."Those eyes--that brow--those lips--how I love them!--How many times has the remembrance of your grace and beauty, coupled with your love, unsettled my reason, and shaken my resolves--even to this moment, when I am wholly yours!--Yes, heaven wills that we should be united.
Only this morning, I gave to the apostolic man, that was to bless our union, in thy name and mine, a royal gift--a gift, that will bring joy and peace to the heart of many an unfortunate creature.Then what have we to regret, my beloved? Our immortal souls will pass away in a kiss, and ascend, full of love, to that God who is all love!"
"Adrienne!"
"Djalma!"
The light, transparent curtains fell like a cloud over that nuptial and funereal couch.Yes, funereal; for, two hours after, Adrienne and Djalma breathed their last sigh in a voluptuous agony.