should, in the world you
are about to enter, to enlighten you as to the snares that will be
laid for you. For if you have friends, you have also enemies--cowardly
enemies, as you know, who have abused your confidence in an infamous
manner, and have made sport of you. And as, unfortunately, their power
is equal to their wickedness, it would perhaps be more prudent in you to
try to avoid them--to fly, instead of resisting them openly."

At the remembrance of his enemies, at the thought of flying from them,
Djalma trembled in every limb; his features became of a lurid paleness;
his eyes wide open, so that the pupil was encircled with white, sparkled
with lurid fire; never had scorn, hatred, and the desire of vengeance,
expressed themselves so terribly on a human face. His upper lip, blood
red, was curled convulsively, exposing a row of small, white, and close
set teeth, and giving to his countenance lately so charming, an air of
such animal ferocity, that Rodin started from his seat, and exclaimed:
"What is the matter, prince? You frighten me."

Djalma did not answer. Half leaning forward, with his hands clinched in
rage, he seemed to cling to one of the arms of the chair, for fear
of yielding to a burst of terrific fury. At this moment, the amber
mouthpiece of his pipe rolled, by chance, under one of his feet; the
violent tension, which contracted all the muscles of the young Indian,
was so powerful, and notwithstanding his youth and his light figure, he
was endowed with such vigor, that with one abrupt stamp he powdered to
dust the piece of amber, in spite of its extreme hardness.

"In the name of heaven, what is the matter, prince?" cried Rodin.

"Thus would I crush my cowardly enemies!" exclaimed Djalma, with
menacing and excited look. Then, as if these words had brought his rage
to a climax, he bounded from his seat, and, with haggard eyes, strode
about the room for some seconds in all directions, as if he sought
for some weapon, and uttered from time to time a hoarse cry, which he
endeavored to stifle by thrusting his clinched fist against his mouth,
whilst his jaws moved convulsively. It was the impotent rage of a wild
beast, thirsting for blood. Yet, in all this, the young Indian preserved
a great and savage beauty; it was evident that these instincts of
sanguinary ardor and blind intrepidity, now excited to this pitch by
horror of treachery and cowardice, when applied to war, or to those
gigantic Indian hunts,