“Yes, I consent,” answered Adrienne, with emotion.  “If it is to be war—­war to the knife, that they would wage with me—­I must be prepared for it; and, come to think of it, it would only be weakness and folly not to put myself on my guard.  No doubt this step costs me much, and is very repugnant to me, but it is the only way to put an end to suspicions that would be a continual torment to me, and perhaps to prevent still greater evils.  Yes! for many important reasons, this interview of M. Rodin with Prince Djalma may be doubly decisive to me—­as to the confidence, or the inexorable hate, that I must henceforth feel for M. Rodin.  So, Florine, quick!—­my cloak and bonnet, and the carriage.  You will go with me.  As for you, my dear, pray wait for me here,” she added, turning to the work girl.

Half an hour after this conversation, Adrienne’s carriage stopped, as we have before seen, at the little garden-gate of the house in the Rue Blanche.  Florine entered the greenhouse and soon returned to her mistress.  “The shade is down, madame.  M. Rodin has just entered the prince’s room.”  Mdlle. de Cardoville was, therefore, present, though invisible, at the following scene, which took place between Rodin and Djalma.

CHAPTER XLIII.

The letter.

Some minutes before the entrance of Mdlle. de Cardoville into the greenhouse, Rodin had been introduced by Faringhea into the presence of the prince, who, still under the influence of the burning excitement into which he had been plunged by the words of the half-caste, did not appear to perceive the Jesuit.  The latter, surprised at the animated expression of Djalma’s countenance, and his almost frantic air, made a sign of interrogation to Faringhea, who answered him privately in the following symbolical manner:—­After laying his forefinger on his head and heart, he pointed to the fire burning in the chimney, signifying by his pantomimic action that the head and heart of Djalma were both in flames.  No doubt Rodin understood him, for an imperceptible smile of satisfaction played upon his wan lips; then he said aloud to Faringhea, “I wish to be alone with the prince.  Let down the shade and see that we are not interrupted.”  The half-caste bowed, and touched a spring near the sheet of plate-glass, which slid into the wall as the blind descended; then, again bowing, Faringhea left the room.  It was shortly after that Mdlle. de Cardoville and Florine entered the greenhouse, which was now only separated from the room in which was Djalma, by the transparent thickness of a shade of white silk, embroidered with large colored birds.  The noise of the door, which Faringhea closed as he went out, seemed to recall the young Indian to himself; his features, though still animated, recovered their habitual expression of mildness and gentleness; he started, drew his hand across his brow, looked around him, as if waking up from a deep reverie, and then, advancing towards Rodin, with an air as respectful as confused, he said to him, using the expression commonly applied to old men in his country, “Pardon me, father.”  Still following the customs of his nation, so full of deference towards age, he took Rodin’s hand to raise it to his lips, but the Jesuit drew back a step, and refused his homage.