e cabin, and hiding himself under a mat; "try to persuade him. If 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