the English. When they gave me my
liberty, I swore never again to set foot in India--and I keep the oaths I
make."

"Those who despoiled you, who took you captive, who killed your
father--were men. Are there not other men, on whom you can avenge
yourself! Let your hate fall upon them!"

"You, who speak thus of men, are not a man!"

"I, and those who resemble me, are more than men. We are, to the rest of
the human race, what the bold hunter is to the wild beasts, which they
run down in the forest. Will you be, like us, more than a man? Will you
glut surely, largely, safely--the hate which devours your heart, for all
the evil done you?"

"Your words become more and more obscure: I have no hatred in my heart,"
said Djalma. "When an enemy is worthy of me, I fight with him; when he is
unworthy, I despise him. So that I have no hate--either for brave men or
cowards."

"Treachery!" cried the negro on a sudden, pointing with rapid gesture to
the door, for Djalma and the Indian had now withdrawn a little from it,
and were standing in one corner of the hovel.

At the shout of the negro, Faringhea, who had not been perceived by
Djalma, threw off abruptly the mat which covered him, drew his crease,
started up like a tiger, and with one bound was out of the cabin. Then,
seeing a body of soldiers advancing cautiously in a circle, he dealt one
of them a mortal stroke, threw down two others, and disappeared in the
midst of the ruins. All this passed so instantaneously, that, when Djalma
turned round, to ascertain the cause of the negro's cry of alarm,
Faringhea had already disappeared.

The muskets of several soldiers, crowding to the door, were immediately
pointed at Djalma and the three Stranglers, whilst others went in pursuit
of Faringhea. The negro, the Malay, and the Indian, seeing the
impossibility of resistance, exchanged a few rapid words, and offered
their hands to the cords, with which some of the soldiers had provided
themselves.

The Dutch captain, who commanded the squad, entered the cabin at this
moment. "And this other one?" said he, pointing out Djalma to the
soldiers, who were occupied in binding the three Phansegars.

"Each in his turn, captain!" said an old sergeant. "We come to him next."

Djalma had remained petrified with surprise, not understanding what was
passing round him; but, when he saw the sergeant and two soldiers
approach with ropes to bind him, he repulsed them with violent
indignation, a