"The Malay has succeeded!" exclaimed the Indian, listening to a singular kind of hoot, which sounded through the profound silence of the night and of the woods.
"Yes, it is the scream of the vulture seizing its prey," said the negro, listening in his turn; "it is also the signal of our brethren, after they have seized their prey."
In a few minutes, the Malay appeared at the door of the hut.He had wound around him a broad length of cotton, adorned with bright colored stripes.
"Well," said the negro, anxiously; "have you succeeded?"
"Djalma must bear all his life the mark of the good work," said the Malay, proudly."To reach him, I was forced to offer up to Bowanee a man who crossed my path--I have left his body under the brambles, near the ajoupa.But Djalma is marked with the sign.Mahal the Smuggler was the first to know it."
"And Djalma did not awake?" said the Indian, confounded by the Malay's adroitness.
"Had he awoke," replied the other, calmly, "I should have been a dead man--as I was charged to spare his life."
"Because his life may be more useful to us than his death," said the half-caste.Then, addressing the Malay, he added: "Brother, in risking life for the good work, you have done to-day what we did yesterday, what we may do again to-morrow.This time, you obey; another you will command."
"We all belong to Bowanee," answered the Malay."What is there yet to do?--I am ready." Whilst he thus spoke, his face was turned towards the door of the hut; on a sudden, he said in a low voice: "Here is Djalma.
He approaches the cabin.Mahal has not deceived us."
"He must not see me yet," said Faringhea, retiring to an obscure corner of the cabin, and hiding himself under a mat; "try to persuade him.If he resists--I have my project."
Hardly had Faringhea disappeared, saying these words, when Djalma arrived at the door of the hovel.At sight of those three personages with their forbidding aspect, Djalma started in surprise.But ignorant that these men belonged to the Phansegars, and knowing that, in a country where there are no inns, travellers often pass the night under a tent, or beneath the shelter of some ruins, he continued to advance towards them.
After the first moment, he perceived by the complexion and the dress of one of these men, that he was an Indian, and he accosted him in the Hindoo language: "I thought to have found here a European--a Frenchman--"
"The Frenchman is not yet come," replied the Indian; "but he will not be long."
Guessing by Djalma's question the means which Mahal had employed to draw him into the snare, the Indian hoped to gain time by prolonging his error.
"You knew this Frenchman?" asked Djalma of the Phansegar.
"He appointed us to meet here, as he did you," answered the Indian.
"For what?" inquired Djalma, more and more astonished.
"You will know when he arrives."
"General Simon told you to be at this place?"
"Yes, General Simon," replied the Indian.
There was a moment's pause, during which Djalma sought in vain to explain to himself this mysterious adventure."And who are you?" asked he, with a look of suspicion; for the gloomy silence of the Phansegar's two companions, who stared fixedly at each other, began to give him some uneasiness.
"We are yours, if you will be ours," answered the Indian.
"I have no need of you--nor you of me."
"Who knows?"
"I know it."
"You are deceived.The English killed your father, a king; made you a captive; proscribed you, you have lost all your possessions."
At this cruel reminder, the countenance of Djalma darkened.He started, and a bitter smile curled his lip.The Phansegar continued:
"Your father was just and brave--beloved by his subjects--they called him `Father of the Generous,' and he was well named.Will you leave his death unavenged? Will the hate, which gnaws at your heart, be without fruit?"
"My father died with arms in his hand.I revenged his death on the English whom I killed in war.He, who has since been a father to me, and who fought also in the same cause, told me, that it would now be madness to attempt to recover my territory from the English.When they gave me my liberty, I swore never again to set foot in India--and I keep the oaths I make."
"Those who despoiled you, who took you captive, who killed your father--
were men.Are there not other men, on whom you can avenge yourself! Let your hate fall upon them!"
"You, who speak thus of men, are not a man!"
"I, and those who resemble me, are more than men.We are, to the rest of the human race, what the bold hunter is to the wild beasts, which they run down in the forest.Will you be, like us, more than a man? Will you glut surely, largely, safely--the hate which devours your heart, for all the evil done you?"
"Your words become more and more obscure: I have no hatred in my heart,"
said Djalma."When an enemy is worthy of me, I fight with him; when he is unworthy, I despise him.So that I have no hate--either for brave men or cowards."
"Treachery!" cried the negro on a sudden, pointing with rapid gesture to the door, for Djalma and the Indian had now withdrawn a little from it, and were standing in one corner of the hovel.
At the shout of the negro, Faringhea, who had not been perceived by Djalma, threw off abruptly the mat which covered him, drew his crease, started up like a tiger, and with one bound was out of the cabin.Then, seeing a body of soldiers advancing cautiously in a circle, he dealt one of them a mortal stroke, threw down two others, and disappeared in the midst of the ruins.All this passed so instantaneously, that, when Djalma turned round, to ascertain the cause of the negro's cry of alarm, Faringhea had already disappeared.
The muskets of several soldiers, crowding to the door, were immediately pointed at Djalma and the three Stranglers, whilst others went in pursuit of Faringhea.The negro, the Malay, and the Indian, seeing the impossibility of resistance, exchanged a few rapid words, and offered their hands to the cords, with which some of the soldiers had provided themselves.
