"For what do you ask pardon, my dear prince?" said he to Djalma.

"When you entered, I was in a dream; I did not come to meet you. Once
more, pardon me, father!"

"Once more, I forgive you with all my heart, my dear prince. But let us
have some talk. Pray resume your place on the couch, and your pipe, too,
if you like it."

But Djalma, instead of adopting the suggestion, and throwing himself on
the divan, according to his custom, insisted on seating himself in a
chair, notwithstanding all the persuasions of "the Old Man with the Good
Heart," as he always called the Jesuit.

"Really, your politeness troubles me, my dear prince," said Rodin; "you
are here at home in India; at least, we wish you to think so."

"Many things remind me of my country," said Djalma, in a mild grave tone.
"Your goodness reminds me of my father, and of him who was a father to
me," added the Indian, as he thought of Marshal Simon, whose arrival in
Paris had been purposely concealed from him.

After a moment's silence, he resumed in a tone full of affectionate
warmth, as he stretched out his hand to Rodin, "You are come, and I am
happy!"

"I understand your joy, my dear prince, for I come to take you out of
prison--to open your cage for you. I had begged you to submit to a brief
seclusion, entirely for your own interest."