respect."

"She is very old, then?" cried poor Djalma, whose charming dream was thus
abruptly dispelled.

"She may be a few years older than I am," answered Rodin, with an
ironical smile, expecting to see the young man express a sort of comical
disappointment or angry regret.

But it was not so. To the passionate enthusiasm of love, which had for a
moment lighted up the prince's features, there now succeeded a respectful
and touching expression. He looked at Rodin with emotion, and said to him
in a broken voice: "This woman, is then, a mother to me?"

It is impossible to describe with what a pious, melancholy, and tender
charm the Indian uttered the word mother.

"You have it, my dear prince; this respectable lady wishes to be a mother
to you. But I may not reveal to you the cause of the affection she feels
for you. Only, believe me--this affection is sincere, and the cause
honorable. If I do not tell you her secret, it is that, with us, the
secrets of women, young or old, are equally sacred."

"That is right, and I will respect it. Without seeing her, I will love
her--as I love God, without seeing Him."

"And now, my dear prince, let me tell you what are the intentions of your
maternal friend. This house will remain at your disposal, as long as you
like it; French servants, a carriage, and horses, will be at your orders;
the charges of your housekeeping will be paid for you. Then, as the son