The Dutch captain, who commanded the squad, entered the cabin at this moment."And this other one?" said he, pointing out Djalma to the soldiers, who were occupied in binding the three Phansegars.
"Each in his turn, captain!" said an old sergeant."We come to him next."
Djalma had remained petrified with surprise, not understanding what was passing round him; but, when he saw the sergeant and two soldiers approach with ropes to bind him, he repulsed them with violent indignation, and rushed towards the door where stood the officer.The soldiers, who had supposed that Djalma would submit to his fate with the same impassibility as his companions, were astounded by this resistance, and recoiled some paces, being struck in spite of themselves, with the noble and dignified air of the son of Kadja-sing.
"Why would you bind me like these men?" cried Djalma, addressing himself in Hindostanee to the officer, who understood that language from his long service in the Dutch colonies.
"Why would we bind you, wretch?--because you form part of this band of assassins.What?" added the officer in Dutch, speaking to the soldiers, "are you afraid of him?--Tie the cord tight about his wrists; there will soon be another about his neck."
"You are mistaken," said Djalma, with a dignity and calmness which astonished the officer; "I have hardly been in this place a quarter of an hour--I do not know these men.I came here to meet a Frenchman."
"Not a Phansegar like them?--Who will believe the falsehood?"
"Them!" cried Djalma, with so natural a movement and expression of horror, that with a sign the officer stopped the soldiers, who were again advancing to bind the son of Kadja-sing; "these men form part of that horrible band of murderers! and you accuse me of being their accomplice!-
-Oh, in this case, sir! I am perfectly at ease," said the young man, with a smile of disdain.
"It will not be sufficient to say that you are tranquil," replied the officer; "thanks to their confessions, we now know by what mysterious signs to recognize the Thugs."
"I repeat, sir, that I hold these murderers in the greatest horror, and that I came here--"
The negro, interrupting Djalma, said to the officer with a ferocious joy:
"You have hit it; the sons of the good work do know each other by marks tattooed on their skin.For us, the hour has come--we give our necks to the cord.Often enough have we twined it round the necks of those who served not with us the good work.Now, look at our arms, and look at the arms of this youth!"
The officer, misinterpreting the words of the negro, said to Djalma: "It is quite clear, that if, as this negro tells us, you do not bear on your arm the mysterious symbol--(we are going to assure ourselves of the fact), and if you can explain your presence here in a satisfactory manner, you may be at liberty within two hours."
"You do not understand me," said the negro to the officer; "Prince Djalma is one of us, for he bears on his left arm the name of Bowanee."
"Yes! he is like us, a son of Kale!" added the Malay.
"He is like us, a Phansegar," said the Indian.
The three men, irritated at the horror which Djalma had manifested on learning that they were Phansegars, took a savage pride in making it believed that the son of Kadja-sing belonged to their frightful association.
"What have you to answer?" said the officer to Djalma.The latter again gave a look of disdainful pity, raised with his right hand his long, wide left sleeve, and displayed his naked arm.
"What audacity!" cried the officer, for on the inner part of the fore-
arm, a little below the bend, the name of the Bowanee, in bright red Hindoo characters, was distinctly visible.The officer ran to the Malay, and uncovered his arm; he saw the same word, the same signs.Not yet satisfied, he assured himself that the negro and the Indian were likewise so marked.
"Wretch!" cried he, turning furiously towards Djalma; "you inspire even more horror than your accomplices.Bind him like a cowardly assassin,"
added he to the soldiers; "like a cowardly assassin, who lies upon the brink of the grave, for his execution will not be long delayed."
Struck with stupor, Djalma, who for some moments had kept his eye riveted on the fatal mark, was unable to pronounce a word, or make the least movement: his powers of thought seemed to fail him, in presence of this incomprehensible fact.
"Would you dare deny this sign?" said the officer to him, with indignation.
"I cannot deny what I see--what is," said Djalma, quite overcome.
"It is lucky that you confess at last," replied the officer."Soldiers, keep watch over him and his accomplices--you answer for them."
