“Quite natural,” said the latter; “the cause of my poor friends would be judged by that time, and I should be unable to watch over them.  You see how it is, my dear prince,” added Rodin, with bitter indignation.  “But please continue, and excuse me for having interrupted you; though, indeed, such impudence disgusts me.”

Djalma continued:  “’That we may be certain of your removal from Paris for six months, you will go to the house of one of our friends in Germany.  You will there be received with generous hospitality, but forcibly detained until the expiration of the term.’”

“Yes, yes! a voluntary prison,” said Rodin.

“’On these conditions, you will receive a pension of one thousand francs a month, to begin from your departure from Paris, ten thousand francs down, and twenty thousand at the end of the six months—­the whole to be completely secured to you.  Finally, at the end of the six months, we will place you in a position both honorable and independent.’”

Djalma having stopped short, with involuntary indignation, Rodin said to him:  “Let me beg you to continue, my dear prince.  Read to the end, and it will give you some idea of what passes in the midst of our civilization.”

Djalma resumed:  “’You know well enough the course of affairs, and what we are, to feel that in providing for your absence, we only wish to get rid of an enemy, not very dangerous, but rather troublesome.  Do not be blinded by your first success.  The results of your denunciation will be stifled, because they are calumnious.  The judge who received your evidence will soon repent his odious partiality.  You may make what use you please of this letter.  We know what we write, to whom we write, and how we write.  You will receive this letter at three o’clock; if by four o’clock we have not your full and complete acceptance, written with your own hand at the bottom of this letter, war must commence between us—­and not from to-morrow, but on the instant.’”

Having finished reading the letter, Djalma looked at Rodin, who said to him:  “Permit me to summon Faringhea.”

He rang the bell, and the half-caste appeared.  Rodin took the letter from the hands of Djalma, tore it into halves, rubbed it between his palms, so as to make a sort of a ball, and said to the half-caste, as he returned it to him:  “Give this palter to the person who waits for it, and tell him that is my only answer to his shameless and insolent letter; you understand me—­this shameless and insolent letter.”

“I understand.” said the half-caste; and he went out.

“This will perhaps be a dangerous war for you, father, said the Indian, with interest.

“Yes, dear prince, it may be dangerous, but I am not like you; I have no wish to kill my enemies, because they are cowardly and wicked.  I fight them under the shield of the law.  Imitate me in this.”  Then, seeing that the countenance of Djalma darkened, he added:  “I am wrong.  I will advise you no more on this subject.  Only, let us defer the decision to the judgment of your noble and motherly protectress.  I shall see her to morrow; if she consents, I will tell you the names of your enemies.  If not—­not.”