and laugh."

"But are you certain of this treachery?" said Djalma, mildly. Then he
added, with visible hesitation, that proved the goodness of his heart:
"Listen to me, and forgive me for speaking of the past! It will only be
another proof, that I cherish no evil memories, and that I fully believe
in your repentance and affection. Remember, that I also once thought,
that she, who is the angel of my life, did not love me--and yet it was
false. Who tells you, that you are not, like me, deceived by false
appearances?"

"Alas, my lord! could I only believe so! But I dare not hope it. My brain
wanders uncertain, I cannot come to any resolution, and therefore I have
recourse to you."

"But what causes your suspicions?"

"Her coldness, which sometimes succeeds to apparent tenderness. The
refusals she gives me in the name of duty. Yes," added the half-caste,
after a moment's silence, "she reasons about her love--a proof, that she
has never loved me, or that she loves me no more."

"On the contrary, she perhaps loves you all the more, that she takes into
consideration the interest and the dignity of her love."

"That is what they all say," replied the half-caste, with bitter irony,
as he fixed a penetrating look on Djalma; "thus speak all those who love
weakly, coldly; but those who love valiantly, never show these insulting
suspicions. For them, a word from the man they adore is a command; they
do not haggle and bargain, for the cruel pleasure of exciting the passion
of their lover to madness, and so ruling him more surely. No, what their
lover asks of them, were it to cost life and honor, they would grant it
without hesitation--because, with them, the will of the man they love is
above every other consideration, divine and human. But those crafty
women, whose pride it is to tame and conquer man--who take delight in
irritating his passion, and sometimes appear on the point of yielding to
it--are demons, who rejoice in the tears and torments of the wretch, that
loves them with the miserable weakness of a child. While we expire with
love at their feet, the perfidious creatures are calculating the effects
of their refusals, and seeing how far they can go, without quite driving
their victim to despair. Oh! how cold and cowardly are they, compared to
the valiant, true-hearted women, who say to the men of their choice: 'Let
me be thine to-day-and to-morrow, come shame, despair, and death--it
matters little! Be happy! my life i