Then a strange thing happened.  A faint light spread itself gradually through an adjoining apartment, and Djalma now perceived, for the first time, the existence of a little round window, in the wall of the room in which he was.  On the side of the prince, this opening was protected by a slight but strong railing, which hardly intercepted the view.  On the other side a thick piece of plate-glass was fixed at the distance of two or three inches from the railing in question.  The room, which Djalma saw through this window, and through which the faint light was now gradually spreading, was richly furnished.  Between two windows, hung with crimson silk curtains, stood a kind of wardrobe, with a looking-glass front; opposite the fireplace in which glowed the burning coals, was a long, wide divan, furnished with cushions.

In another second a woman entered this apartment.  Her face and figure were invisible, being wrapped in a long, hooded mantle, of peculiar form, and a dark color.  The sight of this mantle made Djalma start.  To the pleasure he at first felt succeeded a feverish anxiety, like the growing fumes of intoxication.  There was that strange buzzing in his ears which we experience when we plunge into deep waters.  It was in a kind of delirium that Djalma looked on at what was passing in the next room.  The woman who had just appeared entered with caution, almost with fear.  Drawing aside one of the window curtains, she glanced through the closed blinds into the street.  Then she returned slowly to the fireplace, where she stood for a moment pensive, still carefully enveloped in her mantle.  Completely yielding to the influence of the vapor, which deprived him of his presence of mind—­forgetting Faringhea, and all the circumstances that had accompanied his arrival at this house—­Djalma concentrated all the powers of his attention on the spectacle before him, at which he seemed to be present as in a dream.

Suddenly Djalma saw the woman leave the fireplace and advance towards the looking-glass.  Turning her face toward it, she allowed the mantle to glide down to her feet.  Djalma was thunderstruck.  He saw the face of Adrienne de Cardoville.  Yes, Adrienne, as he had seen her the night before, attired as during her interview with the Princess de Saint Dizier—­the light green dress, the rose-colored ribbons, the white head ornaments.  A network of white beads concealed her back hair, and harmonized admirably with the shining gold of her ringlets.  Finally, as far as the Hindoo could judge through the railing and the thick glass, and in the faint light, it was the figure of Adrienne, with her marble shoulders and swan-like neck, so proud and so graceful.  In a word, he could not, he did not doubt that it was Adrienne de Cardoville.  Djalma was bathed in a burning dew, his dizzy excitement increased, and, with bloodshot eye and heaving bosom, he remained motionless, gazing almost without the power of thought.  The young lady, with her back still turned towards Djalma, arranged her hair with graceful art, took off the network which formed her head-dress, placed it on the chimney-piece, and began to unfasten her gown; then, withdrawing from the looking-glass, she disappeared for an instant from Djalma’s view.