f
he resists--I have my project."

Hardly had Faringhea disappeared, saying these words, when Djalma
arrived at the door of the hovel. At sight of those three personages
with their forbidding aspect, Djalma started in surprise. But ignorant
that these men belonged to the Phansegars, and knowing that, in a
country where there are no inns, travellers often pass the night under
a tent, or beneath the shelter of some ruins, he continued to advance
towards them. After the first moment, he perceived by the complexion and
the dress of one of these men, that he was an Indian, and he accosted
him in the Hindoo language: "I thought to have found here a European--a
Frenchman--"

"The Frenchman is not yet come," replied the Indian; "but he will not be
long."

Guessing by Djalma's question the means which Mahal had employed to
draw him into the snare, the Indian hoped to gain time by prolonging his
error.

"You knew this Frenchman?" asked Djalma of the Phansegar.

"He appointed us to meet here, as he did you," answered the Indian.

"For what?" inquired Djalma, more and more astonished.

"You will know when he arrives."

"General Simon told you to be at this place?"

"Yes, General Simon," replied the Indian.

There was a moment's pause, during which Djalma sought in vain to
explain to himself this mysterious adventure. "And who are you?" asked
he, with a look of suspicion; for the gloomy silence of the Phansegar's
two companions, who stared fixedly at each other, began to give him some
uneasiness.

"We are yours, if you will be ours," answered the Indian.

"I have no need of you--nor you of me."

"Who knows?"

"I know it."

"You are deceived. The English killed your father, a king; made you a
captive; proscribed you, you have lost all your possessions."

At this cruel reminder, the countenance of Djalma darkened. He started,
and a bitter smile curled his lip. The Phansegar continued:

"Your father was just and brave--beloved by his subjects--they called
him 'Father of the Generous,' and he was well named. Will you leave his
death unavenged? Will the hate, which gnaws at your heart, be without
fruit?"

"My father died with arms in his hand. I revenged his death on the
English whom I killed in war. He, who has since been a father to me, and
who fought also in the same cause, told me, that it would now be madness
to attempt to recover my territory from the English. When they gave me
my liberty, I swore never aga