“Oh! you will see, you will see,” said Adrienne.

The count continued to read:  “’Colonel Drake, one of the bravest and best officers of the English army, said yesterday, in my presence, that having been dangerously wounded, and taken prisoner by Prince Djalma, after an energetic resistance, he had been conveyed to the camp established in the village of—­”

Here there was the same hesitation on the part of the count, on seeing a still more barbarous name than the first; so, not wishing to try the adventure, he paused, and said to Adrienne, “Now really, I give this up.”

“And yet it is so easy!” replied Adrienne; and she pronounced with inexpressible softness, a name in itself soft, “The village of Shumshabad.”

“You appear to have an infallible process for remembering geographical names,” said the count, continuing:  “’Once arrived at the camp, Colonel Drake received the kindest hospitality, and Prince Djalma treated him with the respect of a son.  It was there that the colonel became acquainted with some facts, which carried to the highest pitch his enthusiasm for prince Djalma.  I heard him relate the two following.

“’In one of the battles, the prince was accompanied by a young Indian of about twelve years of age, whom he loved tenderly, and who served him as a page, following him on horseback to carry his spare weapons.  This child was idolized by its mother; just as they set out on the expedition, she had entrusted her son to Prince Djalma’s care, saying, with a stoicism worthy of antiquity, “Let him be your brother.”  “He shall be my brother,” had replied the prince.  In the height of a disastrous defeat, the child is severely wounded, and his horse killed; the prince, at peril of his life, notwithstanding the perception of a forced retreat, disengages him, and places him on the croup of his own horse; they are pursued; a musket-ball strikes their steed, who is just able to reach a jungle, in the midst of which, after some vain efforts, he falls exhausted.  The child is unable to walk, but the prince carries him in his arms, and hides with him in the thickest part of the jungle.  The English arrive, and begin their search; but the two victims escape.  After a night and a day of marches, counter-marches, stratagems, fatigues, unheard-of perils, the prince, still, carrying the child, one of whose legs is broken, arrives at his father’s camp, and says, with the utmost simplicity, “I had promised his mother that I would act a brother’s part by him—­and I have done so."’

“That is admirable!” cried the count.

“Go on—­pray go on!” said Adrienne, drying a tear, without removing her eyes from the bas-relief, which she continued to contemplate with growing adoration.