He was, in a word, the man of natural feelings, absolute and entire.
Such a man, brought into contact with the temperaments, calculations, falsehoods, deceptions, tricks, restrictions, and hollowness of a refined society, such as Paris, for example, would, without doubt, form a very curious subject for speculation.We raise this hypothesis, because, since his journey to France had been determined on, Djalma had one fixed, ardent desire--to be in Paris.
In Paris--that enchanted city--of which, even in Asia, the land of enchantment, so many marvelous tales were told.
What chiefly inflamed the fresh, vivid imagination of the young Indian, was the thought of French women--those attractive Parisian beauties, miracles of elegance and grace, who eclipsed, he was informed, even the magnificence of the capitals of the civilized world.And at this very moment, in the brightness of that warm and splendid evening, surrounded by the intoxication of flowers and perfumes, which accelerated the pulses of his young fiery heart, Djalma was dreaming of those exquisite creatures, whom his fancy loved to clothe in the most ideal garbs.
It seemed to him as if, at the end of the avenue, in the midst of that sheet of golden light, which the trees encompassed with their full, green arch, he could see pass and repass, white and sylph-like, a host of adorable and voluptuous phantoms, that threw him kisses from the tips of their rosy fingers.Unable to restrain his burning emotions, carried away by a strange enthusiasm, Djalma uttered exclamations of joy, deep, manly, and sonorous, and made his vigorous courser bound under him in the excitement of a mad delight.Just then a sunbeam, piercing the dark vault of the avenue, shone full upon him.