He extended his hand to the prince, who took hold of it, and they both advanced silently through the darkness.  After leading Djalma some distance, and opening and closing several doors, the half-caste stopped abruptly, and abandoning the hand which he had hitherto held, said to the prince:  “My lord, the decisive moment approaches; let us wait here for a few seconds.”

A profound silence followed these words of the half-caste.  The darkness was so complete, that Djalma could distinguish nothing.  In about a minute, he heard Faringhea moving away from him; and then a door was suddenly opened, and as abruptly closed and locked.  This circumstance made Djalma somewhat uneasy.  By a mechanical movement, he laid his hand upon his dagger, and advanced cautiously towards the side, where he supposed the door to be.

Suddenly, the half-caste’s voice struck upon his ear, though it was impossible to guess whence it came.  “My lord,” it said, “you told me, you were my friend.  I act as a friend.  If I have employed stratagem to bring you hither, it is because the blindness of your fatal passion would otherwise have prevented your accompanying me.  The Princess de Saint Dizier named to you Agricola Baudoin, the lover of Adrienne de Cardoville.  Listen—­look—­judge!”

The voice ceased.  It appeared to have issued from one corner of the room.  Djalma, still in darkness, perceived too late into what a snare he had fallen, and trembled with rage—­almost with alarm.

“Faringhea!” he exclaimed; “where am I? where are you?  Open the door on your life!  I would leave this place instantly.”

Extending his arms, the prince advanced hastily several steps, but he only touched a tapestried wall; he followed it, hoping to find the door, and he at length found it; but it was locked, and resisted all his efforts.  He continued his researches, and came to a fireplace with no fire in it, and to a second door, equally fast.  In a few moments, he had thus made the circle of the room, and found himself again at the fireplace.  The anxiety of the prince increased more and more.  He called Faringhea, in a voice trembling with passion.  There was no answer.  Profound silence reigned without, and complete darkness within.  Ere long, a perfumed vapor, of indescribable sweetness, but very subtle and penetrating, spread itself insensibly through the little room in which Djalma was.  It might be, that the orifice of a tube, passing through one of the doors of the room, introduced this balmy current.  At the height of angry and terrible thoughts, Djalma paid no attention to this odor—­but soon the arteries of his temples began to beat violently, a burning heat seemed to circulate rapidly through his veins, he felt a sensation of pleasure, his resentment died gradually away, and a mild, ineffable torpor crept over him, without his being fully conscious of the mental transformation that was taking place.  Yet, by a last effort of the wavering will, Djalma advanced once more to try and open one of the doors; he found it indeed, but at this place the vapor was so strong, that its action redoubled, and, unable to move a step further, Djalma was obliged to support himself by leaning against the wall.[43]