“’Two such actions,” said Colonel Drake, with good reason, “are sufficient to paint the man;” it is with a feeling of profound respect and admiration, therefore, that I, an obscure traveller, have written the name of Prince Djalma in my book; and at the same time, I have experienced a kind of sorrow, when I have asked myself what would be the future fate of this prince, buried in the depths of a savage country, always devastated by war.  However humble may be the homage that I pay to this character, worthy of the heroic age, his name will at least be repeated with generous enthusiasm by all those who have hearts that beat in sympathy with what is great and noble.’”

“And just now, when I read those simple and touching lines,” resumed Adrienne, I could not forbear pressing my lips to the name of the traveller.”

“Yes; he is such as I thought him,” cried the count, with still more emotion, as he returned the book to Adrienne, who rose, with a grave and touching air, and said to him:  “It was thus I wished you to know him, that you might understand my adoration; for this courage, this heroic goodness, I had guessed beforehand, when I was an involuntary listener to his conversation.  From that moment, I knew him to be generous as intrepid, tender and sensitive as energetic and resolute; and when I saw him so marvellously beautiful—­so different, in the noble character of his countenance, and even in the style of his garments, from all I had hitherto met with—­when I saw the impression that I made upon him, and which I perhaps felt still more violently—­I knew that my whole life was bound up with his love.”

“And now, what are your plans?”

“Divine, radiant as my heart.  When he learns his happiness, I wish that Djalma should feel dazzled as I do, so as to prevent my gazing on my sun; for I repeat, that until tomorrow will be a century to me.  Yes, it is strange!  I should have thought that after such a discovery, I should feel the want of being left alone, plunged in an ocean of delicious dreams.  But no! from this time till to-morrow—­I dread solitude—­I feel a kind of feverish impatience—­uneasy—­ardent—­Oh! where is the beneficent fairy, that, touching me with her wand, will lull me into slumber till to-morrow!”

“I will be that beneficent fairy,” said the count, smiling.

“You?”

“Yes, I.”

“And how so?”

“The power of my wand is this:  I will relieve you from a portion of your thoughts by making them materially visible.”

“Pray explain yourself.”

“And my plan will have another advantage for you.  Listen to me; you are so happy now that you can hear anything.  Your odious aunt, and her equally odious friends, are spreading the report that your residence with Dr. Baleinier—­”

“Was rendered necessary by the derangement of my mind,” said Adrienne, with a smile; “I expected that.”

“It is stupid enough; but, as your resolution to live alone makes many envious of you, and many hostile, you must feel that there will be no want of persons ready to believe the most absurd calumny possible.”