circumstances, the effect must be terrible. Suddenly, to the Jesuit's
great surprise, the tempest was appeased. Djalma's fury was calmed thus
instantaneously, because refection showed him how vain it was: ashamed of
his childish violence, he cast down his eyes. His countenance remained
pale and gloomy; and, with a cold tranquillity, far more formidable than
the violence to which he had yielded, he said to Rodin: "Father, you will
this day lead me to meet my enemies."

"In what end, my dear prince? What would you do?"

"Kill the cowards!"

"Kill them! you must not think of it."

"Faringhea will aid me."

"Remember, you are not on the banks of the Ganges, and here one does not
kill an enemy like a hunted tiger."

"One fights with a loyal enemy, but one kills a traitor like an accursed
dog," replied Djalma, with as much conviction as tranquillity.

"Ah, prince, whose father was the Father of the Generous," said Rodin, in
a grave voice; "what pleasure can you find in striking down creatures as
cowardly as they are wicked?"

"To destroy what is dangerous, is a duty."

"So prince, you seek for revenge."