“And, unfortunately, the girl is charming, spite of her low dress and bare arms,” said the marchioness; “she cannot be more than sixteen or seventeen at most.  Look at her, my dear Adrienne; what a pity!”

“It is one of your charitable days, my dear Julia,” answered Adrienne; “we are to pity the Indians, to pity this creature, and—­pray, whom else are we to pity?”

“We will not pity that handsome Indian, in his red-and-gold turban,” said the marquis, laughing, “for, if this goes on, the girl with the cherry colored ribbons will be giving him a kiss.  See how she leans towards her sultan.”

“They are very amusing,” said the marchioness, sharing the hilarity of her husband, and looking at Rose-Pompom through her glass; then she resumed, in about a minute, addressing herself to Adrienne:  “I am quite certain of one thing.  Notwithstanding her giddy airs, that girl is very fond of her Indian.  I just saw a look that expresses a great deal.”

“Why so much penetration, my dear Julia?” said Adrienne, mildly; “what interest have we to read the heart of that girl?”

“Why, if she loves her sultan, she is quite in the right,” said the marquis, looking through his opera-glass in turn; “for, in my whole life, I never saw a more handsome fellow than that Indian.  I can only catch his side-face, but the profile is pure and fine as an antique cameo.  Do you not think so?” added the marquis, leaning towards Adrienne.  “Of course, it is only as a matter of art, that I permit myself to ask you the question.”

“As a work of art,” answered Adrienne, “it is certainly very fine.”

“But see!” said the marchioness; “how impertinent the little creature is!—­She is actually staring at us.”

“Well!” said the marquis; “and she is actually laying her hand quite unceremoniously on her sultan’s shoulder, to make him share, no doubt, in her admiration of you ladies.”

In fact, Djalma, until now occupied with the contemplation of the scene which reminded him of his country, had remained insensible to the enticements of Rose-Pompon, and had not yet perceived Adrienne.

“Well, now!” said Rose-Pompon, bustling herself about in front of the box, and continuing to stare at Mdlle. de Cardoville, for it was she, and not the marchioness, who now drew her attention; “that is something quite out of the common way—­a pretty woman, with red hair; but such sweet red, it must be owned.  Look, Prince Charming!”

And so saying, she tapped Djalma lightly on the shoulder; he started at these words, turned round, and for the first time perceived Mdlle. de Cardoville.

Though he had been almost prepared for this meeting, the prince was so violently affected by it, that he was about involuntarily to rise, in a state of the utmost confusion; but he felt the iron hand of Faringhea laid heavily on his shoulder, and heard him whisper in Hindostanee:  “Courage! and by to-morrow she will be at your feet.”