AN EVENING AT SAINTE-COLOMBE'S.
Leaving Djalma and Faringhea in the coach, on their way, a few words are indispensable before continuing this scene.Ninny Moulin, ignorant of the real object of the step he took at the instigation of Rodin, had, on the evening before, according to orders received from the latter, offered a considerable sum to Sainte-Colombe, to obtain from that creature (still singularly rapacious) the use of her apartments for whole day.
Sainte-Colombe, having accepted this proposition, too advantageous to be refused, had set out that morning with her servants, to whom she wished, she said, in return for their good services, to give a day's pleasure in the country.Master of the house, Rodin, in a black wig, blue spectacles, and a cloak, and with his mouth and chin buried in a worsted comforter--in a word, perfectly disguised--had gone that morning to take a look at the apartments, and to give his instructions to the half-caste.
The latter, in two hours from the departure of the Jesuit, had, thanks to his address and intelligence, completed the most important preparation and returned in haste to Djalma, to play with detestable hypocrisy the scene at which we have just been present.
During the ride from the Rue de Clichy to the Rue de Richelieu, Faringhea appeared plunged in a mournful reverie.Suddenly, he said to Djalma to a quick tone: "My lord, if I am betrayed, I must have vengeance."
"Contempt is a terrible revenge," answered Djalma.
"No, no," replied the half-caste, with an accent of repressed rage."It is not enough.The nearer the moment approaches, the more I feel I must have blood."
"Listen to me "
"My lord, have pity on me! I was a coward to draw back from my revenge.
Let me leave you, my lord! I will go alone to this interview."
So saying, Faringhea made a movement, as if he would spring from the carriage.
Djalma held him by the arm, and said: "Remain! I wilt not leave you.If you are betrayed, you shall not shed blood.Contempt will avenge and friendship will console you."
"No, no, my lord; I am resolved.When I have killed--then I will kill myself," cried the half-caste, with savage excitement."This kandjiar for the false ones!" added he, laying his hand on his dagger."The poison in the hilt for me."
"Faringhea--"
"If I resist you, my lord, forgive me! My destiny must be accomplished."
Time pressed, and Djalma, despairing to calm the other's ferocious rage, resolved to have recourse to a stratagem.
After some minutes' silence, he said to Faringhea : I will not leave you.
I will do all I can to save you from a crime.If I do not succeed, the blood you shed be on your own head.This hand shall never again be locked in yours."
These words appeared to make a deep impression on Faringhea.He breathed a long sigh, and, bowing his head upon his breast, remained silent and full of thought.Djalma prepared, by the faint light of the lamps, reflected in the interior of the coach, to throw himself suddenly on the half-caste, and disarm him.But the latter, who saw at a glance the intention of the prince, drew his kandjiar abruptly from his girdle, and holding it still in its sheath, said to the prince in a half-solemn, half-savage tone: "This dagger, in a strong hand, is terrible; and in this phial is one of the most subtle poisons of our country."
He touched a spring, and the knob at the top of the hilt rose like a lid, discovering the mouth of a small crystal phial concealed in this murderous weapon.
"Two or three drops of this poison upon the lips," resumed the half-
caste, "and death comes slowly and peacefully, in a few hours, and without pain.Only, for the first symptom, the nails turn blue.But he who emptied this phial at a draught would fall dead, as if struck by lightning."
"Yes," replied Djalma; "I know that our country produces such mysterious poisons.But why lay such stress on the murderous properties of this weapon?"
"To show you, my lord, that this kandjiar would ensure the success and impunity of my vengeance.With the blade I could destroy, and by the poison escape from human justice.Well, my lord! this kandjiar--take it-
-I give it up to you--I renounce my vengeance--rather than render myself unworthy to clasp again your hand!"
He presented the dagger to the prince, who, as pleased as surprised at this unexpected determination, hastily secured the terrible weapon beneath his own girdle; whilst the half-breed continued, in a voice of emotion: "Deep this kandjiar, my lord--and when you have seen and heard all that we go to hear and see--you shall either give me the dagger to strike a wretch--or the poison, to die without striking.You shall command; I will obey."
Djalma was about to reply, when the coach stopped at the house inhabited by Sainte-Colombe.The prince and the half-caste, well enveloped in their mantles, entered a dark porch, and the door was closed after them.
Faringhea exchanged a few words with the porter, and the latter gave him a key.The two Orientals soon arrived at Sainte-Colombe's apartments, which had two doors opening upon the landing-place, besides a private entrance from the courtyard.As he put the key into the lock, Faringhea said to Djalma, in an agitated voice: "Pity my weakness, my lord--but, at this terrible moment, I tremble and hesitate.It were perhaps better to doubt--or to forget!"
Then, as the prince was about to answer, the half-caste exclaimed: "No!
we must have no cowardice!" and, opening the door precipitately, he entered, followed by Djalma.
When the door was again closed, the prince and the half-caste found themselves in a dark and narrow passage."Your hand, my lord--let me guide you--walk lightly," said Faringhea, in a low whisper.
