“Remember, you are not on the banks of the Ganges, and here one does not kill an enemy like a hunted tiger.”
“One fights with a loyal enemy, but one kills a traitor like an accursed dog,” replied Djalma, with as much conviction as tranquillity.
“Ah, prince, whose father was the Father of the Generous,” said Rodin, in a grave voice; “what pleasure can you find in striking down creatures as cowardly as they are wicked?”
“To destroy what is dangerous, is a duty.”
“So prince, you seek for revenge.”
“I do not revenge myself on a serpent,” said the Indian, with haughty bitterness; “I crush it.”
“But, my dear prince, here we cannot get rid of our enemies in that manner. If we have cause of complaint—”
“Women and children complain,” said Djalma, interrupting Rodin: “men strike.”
“Still on the banks of the Ganges, my dear prince. Here society takes your cause into its own hands, examines, judges, and if there be good reason, punishes.”
“In my own quarrel, I am both judge and executioner.”