hem."

"And, unfortunately, the girl is charming, spite of her low dress and
bare arms," said the marchioness; "she cannot be more than sixteen or
seventeen at most. Look at her, my dear Adrienne; what a pity!"

"It is one of your charitable days, my dear Julia," answered Adrienne;
"we are to pity the Indians, to pity this creature, and--pray, whom else
are we to pity?"

"We will not pity that handsome Indian, in his red-and-gold turban," said
the marquis, laughing, "for, if this goes on, the girl with the cherry
colored ribbons will be giving him a kiss. See how she leans towards her
sultan."

"They are very amusing," said the marchioness, sharing the hilarity of
her husband, and looking at Rose-Pompom through her glass; then she
resumed, in about a minute, addressing herself to Adrienne: "I am quite
certain of one thing. Notwithstanding her giddy airs, that girl is very
fond of her Indian. I just saw a look that expresses a great deal."

"Why so much penetration, my dear Julia?" said Adrienne, mildly; "what
interest have we to read the heart of that girl?"

"Why, if she loves her sultan, she is quite in the right," said the
marquis, looking through his opera-glass in turn; "for, in my whole life,
I never saw a more handsome fellow than that Indian. I can only catch his
side-face, but the profile is pure and fine as an antique cameo. Do you
not think so?" added the marquis, leaning towards Adrienne. "Of course,
it is only as a matter of art, that I permit myself to ask you the
question."

"As a work of art," answered Adrienne, "it is certainly very fine."

"But see!" said the marchioness; "how impertinent the little creature
is!--She is actually staring at us."

"Well!" said the marquis; "and she is actually laying her hand quite
unceremoniously on her sultan's shoulder, to make him share, no doubt, in
her admiration of you ladies."

In fact, Djalma, until now occupied with the contemplation of the scene
which reminded him of his country, had remained insensible to the
enticements of Rose-Pompon, and had not yet perceived Adrienne.

"Well, now!" said Rose-Pompon, bustling herself about in front of the
box, and continuing to stare at Mdlle. de Cardoville, for it was she, and
not the marchioness, who now drew her attention; "that is something quite
out of the common way--a pretty woman, with red hair; but such sweet red,
it must be owned. Look, Prince Charming!"

And so saying, she tapped Djalma lightly on