to me, Adrienne.  You forget, that what makes my faith in our love, is my feeling exactly as you do.  What offends you, offends me also; what disgusts you, disgusts me.  Just now, when you cited to me the laws of this country, which respect in a woman not even a mother’s right—­I thought with pride of our barbarous countries, where woman, though a slave, is made free when she becomes a mother.  No, no; such laws are not made either for you or me.  Is it not to prove your sacred respect for our love, to wish to raise it above the shameful servitude that would degrade it?  You see, Adrienne, I have often heard said by the priests of my country, that there were beings inferior to the gods, but superior to every other creature.  I did not believe those priests; but now I do.”  These last words were uttered, not in the tone of flattery, but with an accent of sincere conviction, and with that sort of passionate veneration and almost timid fervor, which mark the believer talking of his faith; but what is impossible to describe, is the ineffable harmony of these almost religious words, with the mild, deep tone of the young Oriental’s voice—­as well as the ardent expression of amorous melancholy, which gave an irresistible charm to his enchanting features.

Adrienne had listened to Djalma with an indescribable mixture of joy, gratitude, and pride.  Laying her hand on her bosom, as if to keep down its violent pulsations, she resumed, as she looked at the prince with delight:  “Behold him, ever the same!—­just, good, great!—­Oh, my heart! my heart! how proudly it beats.  Blessed be God, who created me for this adored lover!  He must mean to astonish the world, by the prodigies of tenderness and charity, that such a love may produce.  They do not yet know the sovereign might of free, happy, ardent love.  Yes, Djalma! on the day when our hands are joined together, what hymns of gratitude will ascend to heaven!—­Ah! they do not know the immense, the insatiable longing for joy aria delight, which possesses two hearts like ours; they do not know what rays of happiness stream from the celestial halo of such a flame!—­Oh, yes!  I feel it.  Many tears will be dried, many cold hearts warmed, at the divine fire of our love.  And it will be by the benedictions of those we serve, that they will learn the intoxication of our rapture!”

To the dazzled eyes of Djalma, Adrienne appeared more and more an ideal being—­partaking of the Divinity by her goodness, of the animal nature by passion—­for, yielding to the intensity of excitement, Adrienne fixed upon Djalma looks that sparkled with love.

’Then, almost beside himself, the Asiatic fell prostrate at the feet of the maiden, and exclaimed, in a supplicating voice:  “Mercy! my courage fails me.  Have pity on me! do not talk thus.  Oh, that day! what years of my life would I not give to hasten it!”

“Silence! no blasphemy.  Do not your years belong to me?”

“Adrienne! you love me!”