on which she now perceived marks of blood-a terrible evidence, in confirmation of the words of Djalma - Mademoiselle de Cardoville exclaimed: "You have killed some one, Djalma ! Oh! what does he say? It is dreadful!"

"You are alive-I see you- you are here," said Djalma, in a voice trembling with rapture. "You are here-beautiful pure for it was not you! Oh, no! had it been you, the steel would have turned back upon myself."

“You have killed some one?" cried the young lady, beside herself with this unforeseen revelation, and clasping her hands in horror. "Why! whom did you kill?"

"I do not know. A woman that was like you

a man

that I thought your lover it was an illusion, a frightful dream -you are alive you are here!"

And the Oriental wept for joy.

"A dream? but no, it is not a dream. There is blood upon that dagger!" cried the young lady, as she pointed wildly to the kandjiar. "I tell you there is blood upon it!"

"Yes. I threw it down just now, when I took the poison from it, thinking that I had killed you."

"The poison!" exclaimed Adrienne, and her teeth chattered convulsively. "What poison?"

"I thought I had killed you, and I came here to die." "To die? Oh! wherefore? who is to die?" cried the young lady, almost in delirium.

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"I," replied Djalma, with inexpressible tenderness, “I thought I had killed you and I took poison.'

"You!" exclaimed Adrienne, becoming pale as death. "You!" "Yes."

"Oh! it is not true!" said the young lady, shaking her head. "Look!" said the Asiatic. Mechanically, he turned toward the bed toward the little ivory table, on which sparkled the crystal phial.

With a sudden movement, swifter than thought, swifter, it may be, than the will, Adrienne rushed to the table, seized the hial, and applied it eagerly to her lips.

Djalma had hitherto remained on his knees; but he now attered a terrible cry, made one spring to the drinker's side, and dragged away the phial, which seemed almost glued to her

mouth.

"No matter! I have swallowed as much as you," said Adrienne, with an air of gloomy triumph.

For an instant there followed an awful silence. Adrienne and Djalma gazed upon each other, mute, motionless, horrorstruck. The young lady was the first to break this mournful silence, and said in a tone which she tried to make calm and steady," Well! what is there extraordinary in this? You have killed, and death must expiate your crime. It is just. I will not survive you. That also is natural enough. Why look at me thus? This poison has a sharp taste- does it act quickly! Tell me, my Djalma.”

The prince did not answer. Shuddering through all his frame, he looked down upon his hands. Faringhea had told the truth; a slight violet tint appeared already beneath the nails. Death was approaching, slowly, almost insensibly, but not the less certain. Overwhelmed with despair at the thought that Adrienne, too, was about to die, Djalma felt his courage fail him. He uttered a long groan, and hid his face in his hands. His knees shook under him, and he fell down upon the bed, near which he was standing.

"Already?" cried the young lady, in horror, as she threw herself on her knees at Djalma's feet. "Death already? Do you hide your face from me?"

In her fright, she pulled his hands from before his face. That face was bathed in tears.

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No, not yet," murmured he, through his sobs. "The poison is slow."

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"Really!" cried Adrienne, with ineffable joy. Then, kissing the hands of Djalma, she added tenderly, "If the poison is slow, why do you weep?"

"For you! for you!" said the Indian, in a heartrending

tone.

“You

"Think not of me," replied Adrienne, resolutely. have killed, and we must expiate the crime. I know not what has taken place; but I swear by our love that you did not do evil for evil's sake. There is some horrible mystery in all this."

"On a pretense which I felt bound to believe," replied Djalma, speaking quickly, and panting for breath, “Faringhea led me to a certain house. Once there, he told me that you had betrayed me. I did not believe him, but I know not what strange dizziness seized upon me—and then, through a half obscurity, I saw you

"Mel"

"No not you- but a woman resembling you, dressed

like you, so that I believed the illusion

a man and

flew to meet him you

and then there came and I mad with rage

stabbed her, stabbed him, saw them fall — and so came here to die. And now I find you only to cause your death. Oh, misery misery! that you should die through me!"

And Djalma, this man of formidable energy, began again to weep with the weakness of a child. At sight of this deep, touching, passionate despair, Adrienne, with that admirable courage which women alone possess in love, thought only of consoling Djalma. By an effort of superhuman passion, as the prince revealed to her this infernal plot, the lady's countenance became so splendid with an expression of love and happiness, that the East Indian looked at her in amazement, fearing for an instant that he must have lost his reason.

"No more tears, my adored!" cried the young lady, exultingly. "No more tears but only smiles of joy and love! Our cruel enemies shall not triumph!

"What do you say?"

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They wished to make us miserable. We pity them. Our felicity shall be the envy of the world!"

"Adrienne - bethink you

"Oh! I have all my senses about me. Listen to me, my adored! I now understand it all. Falling into a snare which these wretches spread for you, you have committed murder. Now, in this country, murder leads to infamy, or the scaffold -and to-morrow-to-night, perhaps, you would be thrown into prison. But our enemies have said: A man like Prince Djalma does not wait for infamy - he kills himself. A woman like Adrienne de Cardoville does not survive the disgrace or death of her lover- she prefers to die. Therefore a frightful death awaits them both,' said the black-robed men; and that immense inheritance, which we covet

"And for you-so young, so beautiful, so innocentdeath is frightful, and these monsters triumph!" cried Djalma. "They have spoken the truth!

"They have lied!" answered Adrienne. "Our death shall be celestial. This poison is slow- and I adore you, my Djalma!"

She spoke those words in a low voice, trembling with passionate love, and, leaning upon Djalma's knees, approached so near that he felt her warm breath upon his cheek. As he felt that breath, and saw the humid flame that darted from the