the sheet folded behind him. Should he awake, and strive to seize the
robber, he catches at a slippery form, which slides through his hands
like an eel; should he even succeed in seizing him, it would be
fatal--the dagger strikes him to the heart, he falls bathed in his blood,
and the assassin disappears."--E. S.




CHAPTER XIX

THE SMUGGLER

The tempest of the morning has long been over. The sun is verging towards
the horizon. Some hours have elapsed, since the Strangler introduced
himself into Djalma's cabin, and tattooed him with a mysterious sign
during his sleep.

A horseman advances rapidly down a long avenue of spreading trees.
Sheltered by the thick and verdant arch, a thousand birds salute the
splendid evening with songs and circlings; red and green parrots climb,
by help of their hooked beaks, to the top of pink-blossomed acacias;
large Morea birds of the finest and richest blue, whose throats and long
tails change in the light to a golden brown, are chasing the prince
oriels, clothed in their glossy feathers of black and orange; Kolo doves,
of a changeable violet hue, are gently cooing by the side of the birds of
paradise, in whose brilliant plumage are mingled the prismatic colors of
the emerald and ruby, the topaz and sapphire.

This avenue, a little raised, commanded a view of a small pond, which