“If he were known—­as my friend?”

“Exactly so, dear prince.”

The countenance of Djalma immediately assumed an appearance of sorrowful dignity; he raised his head proudly, and said in a stern and haughty voice:  “Since this friend hides himself from me, he must either be ashamed of me, or there is reason for me to be ashamed of him.  I only accept hospitality from those who are worthy of me, and who think me worthy of them.  I leave this house.”  So saying, Djalma rose with such an air of determination, that Rodin exclaimed:  “Listen to me, my dear prince.  Allow me to tell you, that your petulance and touchiness are almost incredible.  Though we have endeavored to remind you of your beautiful country, we are here in Europe, in France, in the centre of Paris.  This consideration may perhaps a little modify your views.  Listen to me, I conjure you.”

Notwithstanding his complete ignorance of certain social conventionalisms, Djalma had too much good sense and uprightness, not to appreciate reason, when it appeared reasonable.  The words of Rodin calmed him.  With that ingenuous modesty, with which natures full of strength and generosity are almost always endowed, he answered mildly:  “You are right, father.  I am no longer in my own country.  Here the customs are different.  I will reflect upon it.”

Notwithstanding his craft and suppleness, Rodin sometimes found himself perplexed by the wild and unforseen ideas of the young Indian.  Thus he saw, to his great surprise, that Djalma now remained pensive for some minutes, after which he resumed in a calm but firm tone:  “I have obeyed you, father:  I have reflected.”

“Well, my dear prince?”

“In no country in the world, under no pretext, should a man of honor conceal his friendship for another man of honor.”

“But suppose there should be danger in avowing this friendship?” said Rodin, very uneasy at the turn the conversation was taking.  Djalma eyed the Jesuit with contemptuous astonishment, and made no reply.

“I understand your silence, my dear prince:  a brave man ought to defy danger.  True; but if it should be you that the danger threatens, in case this friendship were discovered, would not your man of honor be excusable, even praiseworthy, to persist in remaining unknown?”

“I accept nothing from a friend, who thinks me capable of denying him from cowardice.”

“Dear prince—­listen to me.”

“Adieu, father.”

“Yet reflect!”

“I have said it,” replied Djalma, in an abrupt and almost sovereign tone, as he walked towards the door.

“But suppose a woman were concerned,” cried Rodin, driven to extremity, and hastening after the young Indian, for he really feared that Djalma might rush from the house, and thus overthrow all his projects.

At the last words of Rodin the Indian stopped abruptly.  “A woman!” said he, with a start, and turning red.  “A woman is concerned?”