“Really, sir,” cried Rodin, pushing back the card with his hand, “your impudence confounds me. I repeat that I wish to have nothing in common with you. For the last time, I tell you to leave the house. I know nothing about your Prince Djalma. You say you can injure me—do so—make no ceremonies—but, in heaven’s name, leave me to myself.”
So saying, Rodin rang the bell violently. Faringhea made a movement as if to stand upon the defensive; but only the old servant, with his quiet and placid mien, appeared at the door.
“Lapierre, light the gentleman out,” said Rodin, pointing to Faringhea.
Terrified at Rodin’s calmness, the half-caste hesitated to leave the room.
“Why do you wait, sir?” said Rodin, remarking his hesitation. “I wish to be alone.”
“So, sir,” said Faringhea, as he withdrew, slowly, “you refuse my offers? Take care! to-morrow it will be too late.”
“I have the honor to be your most humble servant, sir,” said Rodin, bowing courteously. The Strangler went out, and the door closed upon him.
Immediately, Father d’Aigrigny entered from the next room. His countenance was pale and agitated.
“What have you done?” exclaimed he addressing Rodin.
“I have heard all. I am unfortunately too sure that this wretch spoke the truth. The Indian is in his power, and he goes to rejoin him.”