{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_3349/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_3349","id":"gutenberg_3349","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3349","summary":null,"tags":["Category: French Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","France -- History -- Louis Philippe, 1830-1848 -- Fiction","Historical fiction","Inheritance and succession -- Fiction","Jesuits -- Fiction","Wandering Jew -- Fiction"],"text":"Produced by David Widger and Pat Castevens\n\n\n\n\nTHE WANDERING JEW\n\nBy Eugene Sue\n\n\n\nBOOK XI.\n\n\nL.        The Ruins of the Abbey of St. John the Baptist\nLI.       The Calvary\nLII.      The Council\nLIII.     Happiness\nLIV.      Duty\nLV.       The Improvised Hospital\nLVI.      Hydrophobia\nLVII.     The Guardian Angel\nLVIII.    Ruin\nLIX.      Memories\nLX.       The Ordeal\nLXI.      Ambition\nLXII.     To a Socius, a Socius and a Half\nLXIII.    Faringhea's Affection\nLXIV.     An Evening at St. Colombe's\nLXV.      The Nuptial Bed\nLXVI.     A Duel to the Death\nLXVII.    A Message\nLXVIII.   The First of June\n\n\nEPILOGUE.\n\nI.     Four Years After\nII.    The Redemption\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER L.\n\nTHE RUINS OF THE ABBEY OF ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST.\n\nThe sun is fast sinking. In the depths of an immense piny wood, in the\nmidst of profound solitude, rise the ruins of an abbey, once sacred to\nSt. John the Baptist. Ivy, moss, and creeping plants, almost entirely\nconceal the stones, now black with age. Some broken arches, some walls\npierced with ovals, still remain standing, visible on the dark background\nof the thick wood. Looking down upon this mass of ruins from a broken\npedestal, half-covered with ivy, a mutilated, but colossal statue of\nstone still keeps its place. This statue is strange and awful. It\nrepresents a headless human figure. Clad in the antique toga, it holds in\nits hand a dish and on that dish is a head. This head is its own. It is\nthe statue of St. John the Baptist and Martyr, put to death by wish of\nHerodias.\n\nThe silence around is solemn. From time to time, however, is heard the\ndull rustling of the enormous branches of the pine-trees, shaken by the\nwind. Copper-colored clouds, reddened by the setting sun, pass slowly\nover the forest, and are reflected in the current of a brook, which,\nderiving its source from a neighboring mass of rocks, flows through the\nruins. The water flows, the clouds pass on, the ancient trees tremble,\nthe breeze murmurs.\n\nSuddenly, through the shadow thrown by the overhanging wood, which\nstretches far into endless depths, a human form appears. It is a woman.\nShe advances slowly towards the ruins. She has reached them. She treads\nthe once sacred ground. This woman is pale, her look sad, her long robe\nfloats on the wind, her feet covered with dust. She walks with difficulty\nand pain. A block of stone is placed near the stream, almost at the foot\nof the statue of John the Baptist. Upon this stone she sinks breathless\nand exhausted, worn out with fatigue. And yet, for many days, many years,\nmany centuries, she has walked on unwearied.\n\nFor the first time, she feels an unconquerable sense of lassitude. For\nthe first time, her feet begin to fail her. For the first time, she, who\ntraversed, with firm and equal footsteps, the moving lava of torrid\ndeserts, while whole caravans were buried in drifts of fiery sand--who\npassed, with steady and disdainful tread, over the eternal snows of\nArctic regions, over icy solitudes, in which no other human being could\nlive--who had been spared by the devouring flames of conflagrations, and\nby the impetuous waters of torrents--she, in brief, who for centuries had\nhad nothing in common with humanity--for the first time suffers mortal\npain.\n\nHer feet bleed, her limbs ache with fatigue, she is devoured by burning\nthirst. She feels these infirmities, yet scarcely dares to believe them\nreal. Her joy would be too immense! But now, her throat becomes dry,\ncontracted, all on fire. She sees the stream, and throws herself on her\nknees, to quench her thirst in that crystal current, transparent as a\nmirror. What happens then? Hardly have her fevered lips touched the\nfresh, pure water, than, still kneeling, supported on her hands, she\nsuddenly ceases to drink, and gazes eagerly on the limpid stream.\nForgetting the thirst which devours her, she utters a loud cry--a cry of\ndeep, earnest, religious joy, like a note of praise and infinite\ngratitude to heaven. In that deep mirror, she perceives that she has\ngrown older.\n\nIn a few days, a few hours, a few minutes, perhaps in a single second,\nshe has attained the maturity of age. She, who for more than eighteen\ncenturies has been as a woman of twenty, carrying through successive\ngenerations the load of her imperishable youth--she has grown old, and\nmay, perhaps, at length, hope to die. Every minute of her life may now\nbring her nearer to the last home! Transported by that ineffable hope,\nshe rises, and lifts her eyes to heaven, clasping her hands in an\nattitude of fervent prayer. Then her eyes rest on the tall statue of\nstone, representing St. John. The head, which the martyr carries in his\nhand, seems, from beneath its half-closed granite eyelid, to cast upon\nthe Wandering Jewess a glance of commiseration and pity. And it was she,\nHerodias who, in the cruel intoxication of a pagan festival, demanded the\nmurder of the saint! And it is at the foot of the martyr's image, that,\nfor the first time, the immortality, which weighed on her for so many\ncenturies, seems likely to find a term!\n\n\"Oh, impenetrable mystery! oh, divine hope!\" she cries. \"The wrath of\nheaven is at length appeased. The hand of the Lord brings me to the feet\nof the blessed martyr, and I begin once more to feel myself a human\ncreature. And yet it was to avenge his death, that the same heaven\ncondemned me to eternal wanderings!\n\n\"Oh, Lord! grant that I may not be the only one forgiven. May he--the\nartisan, who like me, daughter of a king, wanders on for\ncenturies--likewise hope to reach the end of that immense journey!\n\n\"Where is he, Lord? where is he? Hast thou deprived me of the power once\nbestowed, to see and hear him through the vastness of intervening space?\nOh, in this mighty moment, restore me that divine gift--for the more I\nfeel these human infirmities, which I hail and bless as the end of my\neternity of ills, the more my sight loses the power to traverse\nimmensity, and my ear to catch the sound of that wanderer's accent, from\nthe other extremity of the globe?\"\n\nNight had fallen, dark and stormy. The wind rose in the midst of the\ngreat pine-trees. Behind their black summits, through masses of dark\ncloud, slowly sailed the silver disk of the moon. The invocation of the\nWandering Jewess had perhaps been heard. Suddenly, her eyes closed--with\nhands clasped together, she remained kneeling in the heart of the\nruins--motionless as a statue upon a tomb. And then she had a wondrous\ndream!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LI.\n\nTHE CALVARY.\n\nThis was the vision of Herodias: On the summit of a high, steep, rocky\nmountain, there stands a cross. The sun is sinking, even as when the\nJewess herself, worn out with fatigue, entered the ruins of St. John's\nAbbey. The great figure on the cross--which looks down from this Calvary,\non the mountain, and on the vast, dreary plain beyond--stands out white\nand pale against the dark, blue clouds, which stretch across the heavens,\nand assume a violent tint towards the horizon. There, where the setting\nsun has left a long track of lurid light, almost of the hue of blood--as\nfar as the eye can reach, no vegetation appears on the surface of the\ngloomy desert, covered with sand and stones, like the ancient bed of some\ndried-up ocean. A silence as of death broods over this desolate tract.\nSometimes, gigantic black vultures, with red unfeathered necks, luminous\nyellow eyes, stooping from their lofty flight in the midst of these\nsolitudes, come to make their bloody feast on the prey they have carried\noff from less uncultivated regions.\n\nHow, then, did this Calvary, this place of prayer, come to be erected so\nfar from the abodes of men? This Calvary was prepared at a great cost by\na repentant sinner. He had done much harm to his fellow-creatures, and,\nin the hope of obtaining pardon for his crimes, he had climbed this\nmountain on his knees, and become a hermit, and lived there till his\ndeath, at the foot of this cross, only sheltered by a roof of thatch, now\nlong since swept away by the wind. The sun is still sinking. The sky\nbecomes darker. The luminous lines on the horizon grow fainter and\nfainter, like heated bars of iron that gradually grow cool. Suddenly, on\nthe eastern side of the Calvary, is heard the noise of some falling\nstones, which, loosened from the side of the mountain, roll down\nrebounding to its base. These stones have been loosened by the foot of a\ntraveller, who, after traversing the plain below, has, during the last\nhour, been climbing the steep ascent. He is not yet visible--but one\nhears the echo of his tread--slow, steady, and firm. At length, he\nreaches the top of the mountain, and his tall figure stands out against\nthe stormy sky.\n\nThe traveller is pale as the great figure on the cross. On his broad\nforehead a black line extends from one temple to the other. It is the\ncobbler of Jerusalem. The poor artisan, who hardened by misery, injustice\nand oppression, without pity for the suffering of the Divine Being who\nbore the cross, repulsed him from his dwelling, and bade him: \"Go ON! GO\nON! GO ON!\" And, from that day, the avenging Deity has in his turn said\nto the artisan of Jerusalem: \"GO ON! GO ON! GO ON!\"\n\nAnd he has gone on, without end or rest. Nor did the divine vengeance\nstop there. From time to time death has followed the steps of the\nwanderer, and innumerable graves have been even as mile-stones on his\nfatal path. And if ever he found periods of repose in the midst of his\ninfinite grief, it was when the hand of the Lord led him into deep\nsolitudes, like that where he now dragged his steps along. In passing\nover that dreary plain, or climbing to that rude Calvary, he at least\nheard no more the funeral knell, which always, always sounded behind him\nin every inhabited region.\n\nAll day long, even at this hour, plunged in the black abyss of his\nthoughts, following the fatal track--going whither he was guided by the\ninvisible hand, with head bowed on his breast, and eyes fixed upon the\nground, the wanderer had passed over the plain, and ascended the\nmountain, without once looking at the sky--without even perceiving the\nCalvary--without seeing the image upon the cross. He thought of the last\ndescendants of his race. He felt, by the sinking of his heart, that great\nperils continued to threaten him. And in the bitterness of a despair,\nwild and deep as the ocean, the cobbler of Jerusalem seated himself at\nthe foot of the cross. At this moment a farewell ray of the setting sun,\npiercing the dark mass of clouds, threw a refection upon the Calvary,\nvivid as a conflagration's glare. The Jew rested his forehead upon his\nhand. His long hair, shaken by the evening breeze, fell over his pale\nface--when sweeping it back from his brow, he started with surprise--he,\nwho had long ceased to wonder at anything. With eager glance he\ncontemplated the long lock of hair that he held between his fingers. That\nhair, until now black as night, had become gray. He also, like unto\nHerodias, was growing older.\n\nHis progress towards old age, stopped for eighteen hundred years, had\nresumed its course. Like the Wandering Jewess, he might henceforth hope\nfor the rest of the grave. Throwing himself on his knees, he stretched\nhis hands towards heaven, to ask for the explanation of the mystery which\nfilled him with hope. Then, for the first time, his eyes rested on the\nCrucified One, looking down upon the Calvary, even as the Wandering\nJewess had fixed her gaze on the granite eyelids of the Blessed Martyr.\n\nThe Saviour, his head bowed under the weight of his crown of thorns,\nseemed from the cross to view with pity, and pardon the artisan, who for\nso many centuries had felt his curse--and who, kneeling, with his body\nthrown backward in an attitude of fear and supplication, now lifted\ntowards the crucifix his imploring hands.\n\n\"Oh, Messiah!\" cried the Jew, \"the avenging arm of heaven brings me back\nto the foot of this heavy cross, which thou didst bear, when, stopping at\nthe door of my poor dwelling, thou wert repulsed with merciless\nharshness, and I said unto thee: 'Go on! go on!'--After my long life of\nwanderings, I am again before this cross, and my hair begins to whiten.\nOh Lord! in thy divine mercy, hast thou at length pardoned me? Have I\nreached the term of my endless march? Will thy celestial clemency grant\nme at length the repose of the sepulchre, which, until now, alas! has\never fled before me?--Oh! if thy mercy should descend upon me, let it\nfall likewise upon that woman, whose woes are equal to mine own! Protect\nalso the last descendants of my race! What will be their fate? Already,\nLord, one of them--the only one that misfortune had perverted--has\nperished from the face of the earth. Is it for this that my hair grows\ngray? Will my crime only be expiated when there no longer remains in this\nworld one member of our accursed race? Or does this proof of thy powerful\ngoodness, Lord, which restores me to the condition of humanity, serve\nalso as a sign of the pardon and happiness of my family? Will they at\nlength triumph over the perils which beset them? Will they, accomplishing\nthe good which their ancestor designed for his fellow creatures, merit\nforgiveness both for themselves and me? Or will they, inexorably\ncondemned as the accursed scions of an accursed stock, expiate the\noriginal stain of my detested crime?\n\n\"Oh, tell me--tell me, gracious Lord! shall I be forgiven with them, or\nwill they be punished with me?\"\n\nThe twilight gave place to a dark and stormy night, yet the Jew continued\nto pray, kneeling at the foot of the cross.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LII.\n\nTHE COUNCIL.\n\nThe following scene took place at Saint-Dizier House, two days after the\nreconciliation of Marshal Simon with his daughters. The princess is\nlistening with the most profound attention to the words of Rodin. The\nreverend father, according to his habit, stands leaning against the\nmantelpiece, with his hands thrust into the pockets of his old brown\ngreat-coat. His thick, dirty shoes have left their mark on the ermine\nhearth-rug. A deep sense of satisfaction is impressed on the Jesuit's\ncadaverous countenance. Princess de Saint-Dizier, dressed with that sort\nof modest elegance which becomes a mother of the church, keeps her eyes\nfixed on Rodin--for the latter has completely supplanted Father\nd'Aigrigny in the good graces of this pious lady. The coolness, audacity\nlofty intelligence, and rough and imperious character of the ex-socius\nhave overawed this proud woman, and inspired her with a sincere\nadmiration. Even his filthy habits and often brutal repartees have their\ncharm for her, and she now prefers them to the exquisite politeness and\nperfumed elegance of the accomplished Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Yes, madame,\" said Rodin, in a sanctified tone, for these people do not\ntake off their masks even with their accomplices, \"yes, madame, we have\nexcellent news from our house at St. Herem. M. Hardy, the infidel, the\nfreethinker, has at length entered the pale of the holy Roman Catholic\nand Apostolic Church.\" Rodin pronounced these last word with a nasal\ntwang, and the devout lady bowed her head respectfully.\n\n\"Grace has at length touched the heart of this impious man,\" continued\nRodin, \"and so effectually that, in his ascetic enthusiasm, he has\nalready wished to take the vows which will bind him forever to our divine\nOrder.\"\n\n\"So soon, father?\" said the princess, in astonishment.\n\n\"Our statutes are opposed to this precipitation, unless in the case of a\npenitent in articulo mortis--on the very gasp of death--should such a\nperson consider it necessary for his salvation to die in the habit of our\nOrder, and leave us all his wealth for the greater glory of the Lord.\"\n\n\"And is M. Hardy in so dangerous a condition, father?\"\n\n\"He has a violent fever. After so many successive calamities, which have\nmiraculously brought him into the path of salvation,\" said Rodin,\npiously, \"his frail and delicate constitution is almost broken up,\nmorally and physically. Austerities, macerations, and the divine joys of\necstasy, will probably hasten his passage to eternal life, and in a few\nclays,\" said the priest, shaking his head with a solemn air, \"perhaps--\"\n\n\"So soon as that, father?\"\n\n\"It is almost certain. I have therefore made use of my dispensations, to\nreceive the dear penitent, as in articulo mortis, a member of our divine\nCompany, to which, in the usual course, he has made over all his\npossessions, present and to come--so that now he can devote himself\nentirely to the care of his soul, which will be one victim more rescued\nfrom the claws of Satan.\"\n\n\"Oh, father!\" cried the lady, in admiration; \"it is a miraculous\nconversion. Father d'Aigrigny told me how you had to contend against the\ninfluence of Abbe Gabriel.\"\n\n\"The Abbe Gabriel,\" replied Rodin, \"has been punished for meddling with\nwhat did not concern him. I have procured his suspension, and he has been\ndeprived of his curacy. I hear that he now goes about the cholera\nhospitals to administer Christian consolation; we cannot oppose that--but\nthis universal comforter is of the true heretical stamp.\"\n\n\"He is a dangerous character, no doubt,\" answered the princess, \"for he\nhas considerable influence over other men. It must have needed all your\nadmirable and irresistible eloquence to combat the detestable counsels of\nthis Abbe Gabriel, who had taken it into his head to persuade M. Hardy to\nreturn to the life of the world. Really, father, you are a second St.\nChrysostom.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut, madame!\" said Rodin, abruptly, for he was very little sensible\nto flattery; \"keep that for others.\"\n\n\"I tell you that you're a second St. Chrysostom father,\" repeated the\nprincess with enthusiasm; \"like him, you deserve the name of Golden\nMouth.\"\n\n\"Stuff, madame!\" said Rodin, brutally, shrugging his shoulders; \"my lips\nare too pale, my teeth too black, for a mouth of gold. You must be only\njoking.\"\n\n\"But, father--\"\n\n\"No, madame, you will not catch old birds with chaff,\" replied Rodin,\nharshly. \"I hate compliments, and I never pay them.\"\n\n\"Your modesty must pardon me, father,\" said the princess, humbly; \"I\ncould not resist the desire to express to you my admiration, for, as you\nalmost predicted, or at least foresaw, two members of the Rennepont\nfamily, have, within the last few months, resigned all claim to the\ninheritance.\"\n\nRodin looked at Madame de Saint-Dizier with a softened and approving air,\nas he heard her thus describe the position of the two defunct claimants.\nFor, in Rodin's view of the case, M. Hardy, in consequence of his\ndonation and his suicidal asceticism, belonged no longer to this world.\n\nThe lady continued: \"One of these men, a wretched artisan, has been led\nto his ruin by the exaggeration of his vices. You have brought the other\ninto the path of salvation, by carrying out his loving and tender\nqualities. Honor, then to your foresight, father! for you said that you\nwould make use of the passions to attain your end.\"\n\n\"Do not boast too soon,\" said Rodin, impatiently. \"Have you forgotten\nyour niece, and the Hindoo, and the daughters of Marshal Simon? Have they\nalso made a Christian end, or resigned their claim to share in this\ninheritance?\"\n\n\"No, doubtless.\"\n\n\"Hence, you see, madame, we should not lose time in congratulating\nourselves on the past, but make ready for the future. The great day\napproaches. The first of June is not far off. Heaven grant we may not see\nthe four surviving members of the family continue to live impenitent up\nto that period, and so take possession of this enormous property--the\nsource of perdition in their hands--but productive of the glory of the\nChurch in the hands of our Company!\"\n\n\"True, father!\"\n\n\"By the way, you were to see your lawyers on the subject of your niece?\"\n\n\"I have seen them, father. However uncertain may be the chance of which I\nspoke, it is worth trying. I shall know to-day, I hope, if it is legally\npossible.\"\n\n\"Perhaps then,--in the new condition of life to which she would be\nreduced, we might find means to effect her conversion,\" said Rodin, with\na strange and hideous smile; \"until now, since she has been so fatally\nbrought in contact with the Oriental, the happiness of these two pagans\nappears bright and changeless as the diamond. Nothing bites into it, not\neven Faringhea's tooth. Let us hope that the Lord will wreak justice on\ntheir vain and guilty felicity!\"\n\nThis conversation was here interrupted by Father d'Aigrigny, who entered\nthe room with an air of triumph, and exclaimed, \"Victory!\"\n\n\"What do you say\"' asked the princess.\n\n\"He is gone--last night,\" said Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Who?\" said Rodin.\n\n\"Marshal Simon,\" replied the abbe.\n\n\"At last!\" said Rodin, unable to hide his joy.\n\n\"It was no doubt his interview with General d'Havrincourt which filled up\nthe measure,\" cried the princess, \"for I know he had a long conversation\nwith the general, who like so many others, believed the reports in\ncirculation. All means are good against the impious!\" added the princess,\nby way of moral.\n\n\"Have you any details?\" asked Rodin.\n\n\"I have just left Robert,\" said Father d'Aigrigny. \"His age and\ndescription agree with the marshal's, and the latter travels with his\npapers. Only one thing has greatly surprised your emissary.\"\n\n\"What is that?\" said Rodin.\n\n\"Until now, he had always to contend with the hesitations of the marshal,\nand had moreover noticed his gloomy and desponding air. Yesterday, on the\ncontrary, he found him so bright with happiness, that he could not help\nasking him the cause of the alteration.\"\n\n\"Well?\" said Rodin and the princess together, both extremely surprised.\n\n\"The marshal answered: 'I am indeed the happiest man in the world; for I\nam going joyfully to accomplish a sacred duty!\"\n\nThe three actors in this scene looked at each other in silence.\n\n\"And what can have produced this sudden change in the mind of the\nmarshal?\" said the princess, with a pensive air. \"We rather reckon on\nsorrow and every kind of irritation to urge him to engage in this\nadventurous enterprise.\"\n\n\"I cannot make it out,\" said Rodin, reflecting; \"but no matter--he is\ngone. We must not lose a moment, to commence operations on his daughters.\nHas he taken that infernal soldier with him?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Father d'Aigrigny; \"unfortunately, he has not done so. Warned\nby the past, he will redouble his precautions; and a man, whom we might\nhave used against him at a pinch, has just been taken with the\ncontagion.\"\n\n\"Who is that?\" asked the princess.\n\n\"Morok. I could count upon him anywhere and for anything. He is lost to\nus; for, should he recover from the cholera, I fear he will fall a victim\nto a horrible and incurable disease.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"A few days ago, he was bitten by one of the mastiffs of his menagerie,\nand, the next day, the dog showed symptoms of hydrophobia.\"\n\n\"Ah! it is dreadful,\" cried the princess; \"and where is this unfortunate\nman?\"\n\n\"He has been taken to one of the temporary hospitals established in\nParis, for at present he has only been attacked with cholera. It is\ndoubly unfortunate, I repeat, for he was a devoted, determined fellow,\nready for anything. Now this soldier, who has the care of the orphans,\nwill be very difficult to get at, and yet only through him can we hope to\nreach Marshal Simon's daughters.\"\n\n\"That is clear,\" said Rodin, thoughtfully.\n\n\"Particularly since the anonymous letters have again awakened his\nsuspicions,\" added Father d'Aigrigny \"and--\"\n\n\"Talking of the anonymous letters,\" said Rodin suddenly, interrupting\nFather d'Aigrigny, \"there is a fact that you ought to know; I will tell\nyou why.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Besides the letters that you know of, Marshal Simon has received a\nnumber of others unknown to you, in which, by every possible means, it is\ntried to exasperate his irritation against yourself--for they remind him\nof all the reasons he has to hate you, and mock at him, because your\nsacred character shelters you from his vengeance.\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny looked at Rodin with amazement, colored in spite of\nhimself, and said to him: \"But for what purpose has your reverence acted\nin this manner?\"\n\n\"First of all, to clear myself of suspicion with regard to the letters;\nthen, to excite the rage of the marshal to madness, by incessantly\nreminding him of the just grounds he has to hate you, and of the\nimpossibility of being avenged upon you. This, joined to the other\nemotions of sorrow and anger, which ferment in the savage bosom of this\nman of bloodshed, tended to urge him on to the rash enterprise, which is\nthe consequence and the punishment of his idolatry for a miserable\nusurper.\"\n\n\"That may be,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, with an air of constraint: \"but I\nwill observe to your reverence, that it was, perhaps, rather dangerous\nthus to excite Marshal Simon against me.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Rodin, as he fixed a piercing look upon Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Because the marshal, excited beyond all bounds, and remembering only our\nmutual hate, might seek me out--\"\n\n\"Well! and what then?\"\n\n\"Well! he might forget that I am a priest--\"\n\n\"Oh, you are afraid are you?\" said Rodin, disdainfully, interrupting\nFather d'Aigrigny.\n\nAt the words: \"You are afraid,\" the reverend father almost started from\nhis chair; but recovering his coolness, he answered: \"Your reverence is\nright; yes, I should be afraid under such circumstances; I should be\nafraid of forgetting that I am a priest, and of remembering too well that\nI have been a soldier.\"\n\n\"Really?\" said Rodin, with sovereign contempt. \"You are still no further\nthan that stupid and savage point of honor? Your cassock has not yet\nextinguished the warlike fire? So that if this brawling swordsman, whose\npoor, weak head, empty and sonorous as a drum, is so easily turned with\nthe stupid jargon of 'Military honor, oaths, Napoleon II.'--if this\nbrawling bravo, I say, were to commit some violence against you, it would\nrequire a great effort, I suppose, for you to remain calm?\"\n\n\"It is useless, I think,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, quite unable to control\nhis agitation, \"for your reverence to enter upon such questions.\"\n\n\"As your superior,\" answered Rodin, severely, \"I have the right to ask.\nIf Marshal Simon had lifted his hand against you--\"\n\n\"Sir,\" cried the reverend father.\n\n\"There are no sirs here--we are only priests,\" said Rodin, harshly.\nFather d'Aigrigny held down his head, scarcely able to repress his rage.\n\n\"I ask you,\" continued Rodin, obstinately, \"if Marshal Simon had struck\nyou? Is that clear?\"\n\n\"Enough! in mercy,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, \"enough!\"\n\n\"Or, if you like it better, had Marshal Simon left the marks of his\nfingers on your cheek?\" resumed Rodin, with the utmost pertinacity.\n\nFather d'Aigrigny, pale as death, ground his teeth in a kind of fury at\nthe very idea of such an insult, while Rodin, who had no doubt his object\nin asking the question, raised his flabby eyelids, and seemed to watch\nattentively the significant symptoms revealed in the agitated countenance\nof the ex-colonel.\n\nAt length, recovering partly his presence of mind, Father d'Aigrigny\nreplied, in a forcedly calm tone: \"If I were to be exposed to such an\ninsult, I would pray heaven to give me resignation and humility.\"\n\n\"And no doubt heaven would hear your prayers,\" said Rodin, coldly,\nsatisfied with the trial to which he had just put him. \"Besides, you are\nnow warned, and it is not very probable,\" added he, with a grim smile,\n\"that Marshal Simon will ever return to test your humility. But if he\nwere to return,\" said Rodin, fixing on the reverend father a long and\npiercing look, \"you would know how to show this brutal swordsman, in\nspite of all his violence, what resignation and humility there is in a\nChristian soul!\"\n\nTwo humble knocks at the door here interrupted the conversation for a\nmoment. A footman entered, bearing a large sealed packet on a salver,\nwhich he presented to the princess. After this, he withdrew. Princess de\nSaint-Dizier, having by a look asked Rodin's permission to open the\nletter, began to read it--and a cruel satisfaction was soon visible on\nher face.\n\n\"There is hope,\" cried she addressing herself to Rodin: \"the demand is\nrigorously legal, and the consequence may be such as we desire. In a\nword, my niece may, any day, be exposed to complete destitution. She, who\nis so extravagant! what a change in her life!\"\n\n\"We shall then no doubt have some hold on that untamable character,\" said\nRodin with a meditative air; \"for, till now, all has failed in that\ndirection, and one would suppose some kinds of happiness are\ninvulnerable,\" added the Jesuit, gnawing his flat and dirty nails.\n\n\"But, to obtain the result we desire, we must exasperate my niece's\npride. It is, therefore, absolutely necessary, that I should see and talk\nto her,\" said the Princess de Saint-Dizier, reflecting.\n\n\"Mdlle. de Cardoville will refuse this interview,\" said Father\nd'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" replied the princess. \"But she is so happy that her audacity\nmust be at its height. Yes, yes--I know her--and I will write in such a\nmanner, that she will come.\"\n\n\"You think so?\" asked Rodin, with a doubtful air.\n\n\"Do not fear it, father,\" answered the lady, \"she will come. And her\npride once brought into play, we may hope a good deal from it.\"\n\n\"We must then act, lady,\" resumed Rodin; \"yes, act promptly. The moment\napproaches. Hate and suspicion are awake. There is not a moment to lose.\"\n\n\"As for hate,\" replied the princess, \"Mdlle. de Cardoville must have seen\nto what her lawsuit would lead, about what she called her illegal\ndetention in a lunatic asylum, and that of the two young ladies in St.\nMary's Convent. Thank heaven, we have friends everywhere! I know from\ngood authority, that the case will break down from want of evidence, in\nspite of the animosity of certain parliamentary magistrates, who shall be\nwell remembered.\"\n\n\"Under these circumstances,\" replied Rodin, \"the departure of the marshal\ngives us every latitude. We must act immediately on his daughters.\"\n\n\"But how?\" said the princess.\n\n\"We must see them,\" resumed Rodin, \"talk with them, study them. Then we\nshall act in consequence.\"\n\n\"But the soldier will not leave them a second,\" said Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Then,\" replied Rodin, \"we must talk to them in presence of the soldier,\nand get him on our side.\"\n\n\"That hope is idle,\" cried Father d'Aigrigny. \"You do not know the\nmilitary honor of his character. You do not know this man.\"\n\n\"Don't I know him?\" said Rodin, shrugging his shoulders. \"Did not Mdlle.\nde Cardoville present me to him as her liberator, when I denounced you as\nthe soul of the conspiracy? Did I not restore to him his ridiculous\nimperial relic--his cross of honor--when we met at Dr. Baleinier's? Did I\nnot bring him back the girls from the convent, and place them in the arms\nof their father?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the princess; \"but, since that time, my abominable niece\nhas either guessed or discovered all. She told you so herself, father.\"\n\n\"She told me, that she considered me her most mortal enemy,\" said Rodin.\n\"Be it so. But did she tell the same to the marshal? Has she ever\nmentioned me to him? and if she have done so, has the marshal\ncommunicated this circumstance to his soldier? It may be so; but it is by\nno means sure; in any case. I must ascertain the fact; if the soldier\ntreats me as an enemy, we shall see what is next to be done--but I will\nfirst try to be received as a friend.\"\n\n\"When?\" asked the princess.\n\n\"To-morrow morning,\" replied Rodin.\n\n\"Good heaven, my clear father!\" cried the Princess de Saint-Dizier, in\nalarm; \"if this soldier were to treat you as an enemy--beware--\"\n\n\"I always beware, madame. I have had to face worse enemies than he is,\"\nsaid the Jesuit showing his black teeth; \"the cholera to begin with.\"\n\n\"But he may refuse to see you, and in what way will you then get at\nMarshal Simon's daughters?\" said Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"I do not yet know.\" answered Rodin. \"But as I intend to do it, I shall\nfind the means.\"\n\n\"Father,\" said the princess, suddenly, on reflection, \"these girls have\nnever seen me, and I might obtain admittance to them, without sending in\nmy name.\"\n\n\"That would be perfectly useless at present, madame, for I must first\nknow what course to take with respect to them. I must see and converse\nwith them, at any cost, and then, after I have fixed my plan, your\nassistance may be very useful. In any case, please to be ready to morrow,\nmadame, to accompany me.\"\n\n\"To what place, father?\"\n\n\"To Marshal Simon's.\"\n\n\"To the marshal's?\"\n\n\"Not exactly. You will get into your carriage, and I will take a\nhackney-coach. I will then try to obtain an interview with the girls,\nand, during that time, you will wait for me at a few yards from the\nhouse. If I succeed, and require your aid, I will come and fetch you; I\ncan give you my instructions without any appearance of concert between\nus.\"\n\n\"I am content, reverend father; but, in truth, I tremble at the thought\nof your interview with that rough trooper.\"\n\n\"The Lord will watch over his servant, madame!\" replied Rodin. \"As for\nyou, father,\" added he, addressing the Abbe d'Aigrigny, \"despatch\ninstantly to Vienna the note which is all prepared to announce the\ndeparture and speedy arrival of the marshal. Every precaution has been\ntaken. I shall write more fully this evening.\"\n\nThe next morning, about eight o'clock, the Princess de Saint-Dizier, in\nher carriage, and Rodin, in his hackney-coach, took the direction of\nMarshal Simon's house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LIII.\n\nHAPPINESS.\n\nMarshal Simon has been absent two days. It is eight o'clock in the\nmorning. Dagobert, walking on tip-toe with the greatest caution, so as\nnot to make the floor creak beneath his tread, crosses the room which\nleads to the bedchamber of Rose and Blanche and applies his ear to the\ndoor of the apartment. With equal caution, Spoil-sport follows exactly\nthe movements of his master. The countenance of the soldier is uneasy and\nfull of thought. As he approaches the door, he says to himself: \"I hope\nthe dear children heard nothing of what happened in the night! It would\nalarm them, and it is much better that they should not know it at\npresent. It might afflict them sadly, poor dears! and they are so gay, so\nhappy, since they feel sure of their father's love for them. They bore\nhis departure so bravely! I would not for the world that they should know\nof this unfortunate event.\"\n\nThen as he listened, the soldier resumed: \"I hear nothing--and yet they\nare always awake so early. Can it be sorrow?\"\n\nDagobert's reflections were here interrupted by two frank, hearty bursts\nof laughter, from the interior of the bedroom.\n\n\"Come! they are not so sad as I thought,\" said the soldier, breathing\nmore freely. \"Probably they know nothing about it.\"\n\nSoon, the laughter was again heard with redoubled force, and the soldier,\ndelighted at this gayety, so rare on the part of \"his children,\" was much\naffected by it: the tears started to his eyes at the thought that the\norphans had at length recovered the serenity natural to their age; then,\npassing from one emotion to the other, still listening at the door, with\nhis body leaning forward, and his hands resting on his knees, Dagobert's\nlip quivered with an expression of mute joy, and, shaking his head a\nlittle, he accompanied with his silent laughter, the increasing hilarity\nof the young girls. At last, as nothing is so contagious as gayety, and\nas the worthy soldier was in an ecstasy of joy, he finished by laughing\naloud with all his might, without knowing why, and only because Rose and\nBlanche were laughing. Spoil-sport had never seen his master in such a\ntransport of delight; he looked at him for a while in deep and silent\nastonishment, and then began to bark in a questioning way.\n\nAt this well-known sound, the laughter within suddenly ceased, and a\nsweet voice, still trembling with joyous emotion, exclaimed: \"Is it you,\nSpoil-sport, that have come to wake us?\" The dog understood what was\nsaid, wagged his tail, held down his ears, and, approaching close to the\ndoor, answered the appeal of his young mistress by a kind of friendly\ngrowl.\n\n\"Spoil-sport,\" said Rose, hardly able to restrain her laughter, \"you are\nvery early this morning.\"\n\n\"Tell us what o'clock it is, if you please, old fellow?\" added Blanche.\n\n\"Young ladies, it is past eight,\" said suddenly the gruff voice of\nDagobert, accompanying this piece of humor with a loud laugh.\n\nA cry of gay surprise was heard, and then Rose resumed: \"Good-morning,\nDagobert.\"\n\n\"Good-morning, my children. You are very lazy to-day, I must tell you.\"\n\n\"It is not our fault. Our dear Augustine has not yet been to call us. We\nare waiting for her.\"\n\n\"Oh! there it is,\" said Dagobert to himself, his features once more\nassuming an expression of anxiety. Then he returned aloud, in a tone of\nsome embarrassment, for the worthy man was no hand at a falsehood: \"My\nchildren, our companion went out this morning--very early. She is gone to\nthe country--on business--she will not return for some days--so you had\nbetter get up by yourselves for today.\"\n\n\"Our good Madame Augustine!\" exclaimed Blanche, with interest. \"I hope it\nis nothing bad that has made her leave suddenly--eh, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"No, no--not at all--only business,\" answered the soldier. \"To see one of\nher relations.\"\n\n\"Oh, so much the better!\" said Rose. \"Well, Dagobert, when we call you\ncan come in.\"\n\n\"I will come back in a quarter of an hour,\" said the soldier as he\nwithdrew; and he thought to himself: \"I must lecture that fool Loony--for\nhe is so stupid, and so fond of talking, that he will let it all out.\"\n\nThe name of the pretended simpleton will serve as a natural transition,\nto inform the reader of the cause of the hilarity of the sisters. They\nwere laughing at the numberless absurdities of the idiot. The girls rose\nand dressed themselves, each serving as lady's-maid to the other. Rose\nhad combed and arranged Blanche's hair; it was now Blanche's turn to do\nthe same for her sister. Thus occupied, they formed a charming picture.\nRose was seated before the dressing-table; her sister, standing behind\nher, was smoothing her beautiful brown hair. Happy age! so little removed\nfrom childhood, that present joy instantly obliterates the traces of past\nsorrow! But the sisters felt more than joy; it was happiness, deep and\nunalterable, for their father loved them, and their happiness was a\ndelight, and not a pain to him. Assured of the affection of his children,\nhe, also, thanks to them, no longer feared any grief. To those three\nbeings, thus certain of their mutual love, what was a momentary\nseparation? Having explained this, we shall understand the innocent\ngayety of the sisters, notwithstanding their father's departure, and the\nhappy, joyous expression, which now filled with animation their charming\nfaces, on which the late fading rose had begun once more to bloom. Their\nfaith in the future gave to their countenances something resolute and\ndecisive, which added a degree of piquancy to the beauty of their\nenchanting features.\n\nBlanche, in smoothing her sister's hair, let fall the comb, and, as she\nwas stooping to pick it up, Rose anticipated her, saying: \"If it had been\nbroken, we would have put it into the handle-basket.\"\n\nThen the two laughed merrily at this expression, which reminded them of\nan admirable piece of folly on the part of Loony.\n\nThe supposed simpleton had broken the handle of a cup, and when the\ngoverness of the young ladies had reprimanded him for his carelessness,\nhe had answered: \"Never mind, madame; I have put it into the handle\nbasket.\"\n\n\"The handle-basket, what is that?\"\n\n\"Yes, Madame; it is where I keep all the handles I break off the things!\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said Rose, drying her eyes; \"how silly it is to laugh at such\nfoolishness.\"\n\n\"It is droll,\" replied Blanche; \"how can we help it?\"\n\n\"All I regret is, that father cannot hear us laugh.\"\n\n\"He was so happy to see us gay!\"\n\n\"We must write to him to-day, the story of the handle-basket.\"\n\n\"And that of the feather-brush, to show that, according to promise, we\nkept up our spirits during his absence.\"\n\n\"Write to him, sister? no, he is to write to us, and we are not to answer\nhis letters.\"\n\n\"True! well then, I have an idea. Let us address letters to him here,\nDagobert can put them into the post, and, on his return, our father will\nread our correspondence.\"\n\n\"That will be charming! What nonsense we will write to him, since he\ntakes pleasure in it!\"\n\n\"And we, too, like to amuse ourselves.\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly! father's last words have given us so much courage.\"\n\n\"As I listened to them, I felt quite reconciled to his going.\"\n\n\"When he said to us: 'My children, I will confide in you all I can. I go\nto fulfill a sacred duty, and I must be absent for some time; for though,\nwhen I was blind enough to doubt your affection, I could not make up my\nmind to leave you, my conscience was by no means tranquil. Grief takes\nsuch an effect on us, that I had not the strength to come to a decision,\nand my days were passed in painful hesitation. But now that I am certain\nof your tenderness, all this irresolution has ceased, and I understand\nhow one duty is not to be sacrificed to another, and that I have to\nperform two duties at once, both equally sacred; and this I now do with\njoy, and delight, and courage!'\"\n\n\"Go on, sister!\" cried Blanche, rising to draw nearer to Rose. \"I think I\nhear our father when I remember those words, which must console and\nsupport us during his absence.\"\n\n\"And then our father continued: 'Instead of grieving at my departure, you\nwould rejoice in it, you should be proud and happy. I go to perform a\ngood and generous act. Fancy to yourselves, that there is somewhere a\npoor orphan, oppressed and abandoned by all--and that the father of that\norphan was once my benefactor, and that I had promised him to protect his\nson--and that the life of that son is now in peril--tell me, my children;\nwould you regret that I should leave you to fly to the aid of such an\norphan?'--\"\n\n\"'No, no, brave father!' we answered: 'we should not then be your\ndaughters!'\" continued Rose, with enthusiasm. \"Count upon us! We should\nbe indeed unhappy if we thought that our sorrow could deprive thee of thy\ncourage. Go! and every day we will say to ourselves proudly, 'It was to\nperform a great and noble duty that our father left us--we can wait\ncalmly for his return.'\"\n\n\"How that idea of duty sustains one, sister!\" resumed Rose, with growing\nenthusiasm. \"It gave our father the courage to leave us without regret,\nand to us the courage to bear his absence gayly!\"\n\n\"And then, how calm we are now! Those mournful dreams, which seemed to\nportend such sad events, no longer afflict us.\"\n\n\"I tell you, sister, this time we are really happy once for all.\"\n\n\"And then, do you feel like me? I fancy, that I am stronger and more\ncourageous and that I could brave every danger.\"\n\n\"I should think so! We are strong enough now. Our father in the midst,\nyou on one side, I on the other--\"\n\n\"Dagobert in the vanguard, and Spoil-sport in the rear! Then the army\nwill be complete, and let 'em come on by thousands!\" added a gruff, but\njovial voice, interrupting the girl, as Dagobert appeared at the half\nopen door of the room. It was worth looking at his face, radiant with\njoy; for the old fellow had somewhat indiscreetly been listening to the\nconversation.\n\n\"Oh! you were listening, Paul Pry!\" said Rose gayly, as she entered the\nadjoining room with her sister, and both affectionately embraced the\nsoldier.\n\n\"To be sure, I was listening; and I only regretted not to have ears as\nlarge as Spoil-sport's! Brave, good girls! that's how I like to see\nyou--bold as brass, and saying to care and sorrow: 'Right about face!\nmarch! go to the devil!'\"\n\n\"He will want to make us swear, now,\" said Rose to her sister, laughing\nwith all her might.\n\n\"Well! now and then, it does no harm,\" said the soldier; \"it relieves and\ncalms one, when if one could not swear by five hundred thousand de--\"\n\n\"That's enough!\" said Rose, covering with her pretty hand the gray\nmoustache, so as to stop Dagobert in his speech. \"If Madame Augustine\nheard you--\"\n\n\"Our poor governess! so mild and timid,\" resumed Blanche. \"How you would\nfrighten her!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dagobert, as he tried to conceal his rising embarrassment;\n\"but she does not hear us. She is gone into the country.\"\n\n\"Good, worthy woman!\" replied Blanche, with interest. \"She said something\nof you, which shows her excellent heart.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" resumed Rose; \"for she said to us, in speaking of you, 'Ah,\nyoung ladies! my affection must appear very little, compared with M.\nDagobert's. But I feel that I also have the right to devote myself to\nyou.'\"\n\n\"No doubt, no doubt! she has a heart of gold,\" answered Dagobert. Then he\nadded to himself, \"It's as if they did it on purpose, to bring the\nconversation back to this poor woman.\"\n\n\"Father made a good choice,\" continued Rose. \"She is the widow of an old\nofficer, who was with him in the wars.\"\n\n\"When we were out of spirits,\" said Blanche, \"you should have seen her\nuneasiness and grief, and how earnestly she set about consoling us.\"\n\n\"I have seen the tears in her eyes when she looked at us,\" resumed Rose.\n\"Oh! she loves us tenderly, and we return her affection. With regard to\nthat, Dagobert, we have a plan as soon as our father comes back.\"\n\n\"Be quiet, sister!\" said Blanche, laughing. \"Dagobert will not keep our\nsecret.\"\n\n\"He!\"\n\n\"Will you keep it for us, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"I tell you what,\" said the soldier, more and more embarrassed; \"you had\nbetter not tell it to me.\"\n\n\"What! can you keep nothing from Madame Augustine?\"\n\n\"Ah, Dagobert! Dagobert!\" said Blanche, gayly holding up her finger at\nthe soldier; \"I suspect you very much of paying court to our governess.\"\n\n\"I pay court?\" said the soldier--and the expression of his face was so\nrueful, as he pronounced these words, that the two sisters burst out\nlaughing.\n\nTheir hilarity was at its height when the door opened and Loony advanced\ninto room announcing, with a loud voice, \"M. Rodin!\" In fact, the Jesuit\nglided almost imperceptibly into the apartment, as if to take possession\nof the ground. Once there, he thought the game his own, and his reptile\neyes sparkled with joy. It would be difficult to paint the surprise of\nthe two sisters, and the anger of the soldier, at this unexpected visit.\n\nRushing upon Loony, Dagobert seized him by the collar, and exclaimed:\n\"Who gave you leave to introduce any one here without my permission?\"\n\n\"Pardon, M. Dagobert!\" said Loony, throwing himself on his knees, and\nclasping his hands with an air of idiotic entreaty.\n\n\"Leave the room!--and you too!\" added the soldier, with a menacing\ngesture, as he turned towards Rodin, who had already approached the\ngirls, with a paternal smile on his countenance.\n\n\"I am at your orders, my dear sir,\" said the priest, humbly; and he made\na low bow, but without stirring from the spot.\n\n\"Will you go?\" cried the soldier to Loony, who was still kneeling, and\nwho, thanks to the advantages of this position, was able to utter a\ncertain number of words before Dagobert could remove him.\n\n\"M. Dagobert,\" said Loony in a doleful voice, \"I beg pardon for bringing\nup the gentleman without leave; but, alas, my head is turned, because of\nthe misfortune that happened to Madame Augustine.\"\n\n\"What misfortune?\" cried Rose and Blanche together, as they advanced\nanxiously towards Loony.\n\n\"Will you go?\" thundered Dagobert, shaking the servant by the collar, to\nforce him to rise.\n\n\"Speak--speak!\" said Blanche, interposing between the soldier and his\nprey. \"What has happened to Madame Augustine?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" shouted Loony, in spite of the cuffs of the soldier. \"Madame\nAugustine was attacked in the night with cholera, and taken--\"\n\nHe was unable to finish. Dagobert struck him a tremendous blow with his\nfist, right on the jaw, and, putting forth his still formidable strength,\nthe old horse-grenadier lifted him to his legs, and with one violent kick\nbestowed on the lower part of his back, sent him rolling into the ante\nchamber.\n\nThen turning to Rodin, with flushed cheek and sparkling eye, Dagobert\npointed to the door with an expressive gesture, and said in an angry\nvoice: \"Now, be off with you and that quickly!\"\n\n\"I must pay my respects another time, my dear sir,\" said Rodin, as he\nretired towards the door, bowing to the young girls.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LIV.\n\nDUTY.\n\nRodin, retreating slowly before the fire of Dagobert's angry looks,\nwalked backwards to the door, casting oblique but piercing glances at the\norphans, who were visibly affected by the servant's intentional\nindiscretion. (Dagobert had ordered him not to speak before the girls of\nthe illness of their governess, and that was quite enough to induce the\nsimpleton to take the first opportunity of doing so.)\n\nRose hastily approached the soldier, and said to him: \"Is it true--is it\nreally true that poor Madame Augustine has been attacked with the\ncholera?\"\n\n\"No--I do not know--I cannot tell,\" replied the soldier, hesitating;\n\"besides, what is it to you?\"\n\n\"Dagobert, you would conceal from us a calamity,\" said Blanche. \"I\nremember now your embarrassment, when we spoke to you of our governess.\"\n\n\"If she is ill, we ought not to abandon her. She had pity on our sorrows;\nwe ought to pity her sufferings.\"\n\n\"Come, sister; come to her room,\" said Blanche, advancing towards the\ndoor, where Rodin had stopped short, and stood listening with growing\nattention to this unexpected scene, which seemed to give him ample food\nfor thought.\n\n\"You will not leave this room,\" said the soldier, sternly, addressing the\ntwo sisters.\n\n\"Dagobert,\" replied Rose, firmly, \"it is a sacred duty, and it would be\ncowardice not to fulfil it.\"\n\n\"I tell you that you shall not leave the room,\" said the soldier,\nstamping his foot with impatience.\n\n\"Dagobert,\" replied Blanche, with as resolute an air as her sister's, and\nwith a kind of enthusiasm which brought the blood to her fair cheek, \"our\nfather, when he left us, give us an admirable example of devotion and\nduty. He would not forgive us were we to forget the lesson.\"\n\n\"What,\" cried Dagobert, in a rage, and advancing towards the sisters to\nprevent their quitting the apartment; \"you think that if your governess\nhad the cholera, I would let you go to her under the pretext of\nduty?--Your duty is to live, to live happy, for your father's sake--and\nfor mine into the bargain--so not a word more of such folly!\"\n\n\"We can run no danger by going to our governess in her room,\" said Rose.\n\n\"And if there were danger,\" added Blanche, \"we ought not to hesitate. So,\nDagobert, be good! and let us pass.\"\n\nRodin, who had listened to what precedes, with sustained attention,\nsuddenly started, as if a thought had struck him; his eye shone brightly,\nand an expression of fatal joy illumined his countenance.\n\n\"Dagobert, do not refuse!\" said Blanche. \"You would do for us what you\nreproach us with wishing to do for another.\"\n\nDagobert had as it were, till now stood in the path of the Jesuit and the\ntwins by keeping close to the door; but, after a moments reflection, he\nshrugged his shoulders, stepped to one side, and said calmly: \"I was an\nold fool. Come, young ladies; if you find Madame Augustine in the house,\nI will allow you to remain with her.\"\n\nSurprised at these words, the girls stood motionless and irresolute.\n\n\"If our governess is not here, where is she, then?\" said Rose.\n\n\"You think, perhaps, that I am going to tell you in the excitement in\nwhich you are!\"\n\n\"She is dead!\" cried Rose growing pale.\n\n\"No, no--be calm,\" said the soldier, hastily; \"I swear to you, by your\nfather's honor, that she is not dead. At the first appearance of the\ndisorder, she begged to be removed from the house, fearing the contagion\nfor those in it.\"\n\n\"Good and courageous woman!\" said Rose tenderly, \"And you will not allow\nus--\"\n\n\"I will not allow you to go out, even if I have to lock you up in your\nroom,\" cried the soldier, again stamping with rage; then, remembering\nthat the blunderhead's indiscretion was the sole cause of this\nunfortunate incident, he added, with concentrated fury: \"Oh! I will break\nmy stick upon that rascal's back.\"\n\nSo saying, he turned towards the door, where Rodin still stood, silent\nand attentive, dissembling with habitual impassibility the fatal hopes he\nhad just conceived in his brain. The girls, no longer doubting the\nremoval of their governess, and convinced that Dagobert would not tell\nthem whither they had conveyed her, remained pensive and sad.\n\nAt sight of the priest, whom he had forgotten for the moment, the\nsoldier's rage increased, and he said to him abruptly: \"Are you still\nthere?\"\n\n\"I would merely observe to you, my dear sir,\" said Rodin, with that air\nof perfect good nature which he knew so well how to assume, \"that you\nwere standing before the door, which naturally prevented me from going\nout.\"\n\n\"Well, now nothing prevents you--so file off!\"\n\n\"Certainly, I will file off, if you wish it, my dear sir though I think I\nhave some reason to be surprised at such a reception.\"\n\n\"It is no reception at all--so begone!\"\n\n\"I had come, my dear sir to speak to you--\"\n\n\"I have no time for talking.\"\n\n\"Upon business of great importance.\"\n\n\"I have no other business of importance than to remain with these\nchildren.\"\n\n\"Very good, my dear sir,\" said Rodin, pausing on the threshold. \"I will\nnot disturb you any longer; excuse my indiscretion. The bearer of\nexcellent news from Marshal Simon, I came--\"\n\n\"News from our father!\" cried Rose, drawing nearer to Rodin.\n\n\"Oh, speak, speak, sir!\" added Blanche.\n\n\"You have news of the marshal!\" said Dagobert, glancing suspiciously at\nRodin. \"Pray, what is this news?\"\n\nBut Rodin, without immediately answering the question, returned from the\nthreshold into the room, and, contemplating Rose and Blanche by turns\nwith admiration, he resumed: \"What happiness for me, to be able to bring\nsome pleasure to these dear young ladies. They are even as I left them\ngraceful, and fair, and charming--only less sad than on the day when I\nfetched them from the gloomy convent in which they were kept prisoners,\nto restore them to the arms of their glorious father!\"\n\n\"That was their place, and this is not yours,\" said Dagobert, harshly,\nstill holding the door open behind Rodin.\n\n\"Confess, at least that I was not so much out of place at Dr.\nBaleinier's,\" said the Jesuit, with a cunning air. \"You know, for it was\nthere that I restored to you the noble imperial cross you so much\nregretted--the day when that good Mdlle. de Cardoville only prevented you\nfrom strangling me by telling you that I was her liberator. Aye! it was\njust as I have the honor of stating, young ladies,\" added Rodin, with a\nsmile; \"this brave soldier was very near strangling me, for, be it said\nwithout offense, he has, in spite of his age, a grasp of iron. Ha, ha!\nthe Prussians and Cossacks must know that better than I!\"\n\nThese few words reminded Dagobert and the twins of the services which\nRodin had really rendered them; and though the marshal had heard Mdlle.\nde Cardoville speak of Rodin as of a very dangerous man, he had\nforgotten, in the midst of so many anxieties, to communicate this\ncircumstance to Dagobert. But this latter, warned by experience, felt, in\nspite of favorable appearances, a secret aversion for the Jesuit; so he\nreplied abruptly: \"The strength of my grasp has nothing to do with the\nmatter.\"\n\n\"If I allude to that little innocent playfulness on your part, my dear\nsir,\" said Rodin, in his softest tone, approaching the two sisters with a\nwriggle which was peculiar to him; \"if I allude to it, you see, it was\nsuggested by the involuntary recollection of the little services I was\nhappy enough to render you.\" Dagobert looked fixedly at Rodin, who\ninstantly veiled his glance beneath his flabby eyelids.\n\n\"First of all,\" said the soldier, after a moment's silence, \"a true man\nnever speaks of the services he has rendered, and you come back three\ntimes to the subject.\"\n\n\"But Dagobert,\" whispered Rose, \"if he brings news of our father?\"\n\nThe soldier made a sign, as if to beg the girl to let him speak, and\nresumed, looking full at Rodin: \"You are cunning, but I'm no raw\nrecruit.\"\n\n\"I cunning?\" said Rodin, with a sanctified air.\n\n\"Yes, very. You think to puzzle me with your fine phrases; but I'm not to\nbe caught in that way. Just listen to me. Some of your band of\nblack-gowns stole my cross; you returned it to me. Some of the same band\ncarried off these children; you brought them back. It is also true that\nyou denounced the renegade D'Aigrigny. But all this only proves two\nthings: first, that you were vile enough to be the accomplice of these\nscoundrels; and secondly, that, having been their accomplice, you were\nbase enough to betray them. Now, those two facts are equally bad, and I\nsuspect you most furiously. So march off at once; your presence is not\ngood for these children.\"\n\n\"But, my dear sir--\"\n\n\"I will have no buts,\" answered Dagobert, in an angry voice. \"When a man\nof your look does good, it is only to hide some evil; and one must be on\nguard.\"\n\n\"I understand your suspicions,\" said Rodin coolly, hiding his growing\ndisappointment, for he had hoped it would have been easy to coax the\nsoldier; \"but, if you reflect, what interest have I in deceiving you? And\nin what should the deception consist?\"\n\n\"You have some interest or other in persisting to remain here, when I\ntell you to go away.\"\n\n\"I have already had the honor of informing you of the object of my visit,\nmy dear sir.\"\n\n\"To bring news of Marshal Simon?\"\n\n\"That is exactly the case. I am happy enough to have news of the marshal.\nYes, my dear young ladies,\" added Rodin, as he again approached the two\nsisters, to recover, as it were, the ground he had lost, \"I have news of\nyour glorious father!\"\n\n\"Then come to my room directly, and you can tell it to me,\" replied\nDagobert.\n\n\"What! you would be cruel enough to deprive these dear ladies of the\npleasure--\"\n\n\"By heaven, sir!\" cried Dagobert, in a voice of thunder, \"you will make\nme forget myself. I should be sorry to fling a man of your age down the\nstairs. Will you be gone?\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said Rodin mildly, \"do not be angry with a poor old man. I\nam really not worth the trouble. I will go with you to your room, and\ntell you what I have to communicate. You will repent not having let me\nspeak before these dear young ladies; but that will be your punishment,\nnaughty man!\"\n\nSo saying, Rodin again bowed very low, and, concealing his rage and\nvexation, left the room before Dagobert, who made a sign to the two\nsisters, and then followed, closing the door after him.\n\n\"What news of our father, Dagobert?\" said Rose anxiously, when the\nsoldier returned, after a quarter of an hours absence.\n\n\"Well, that old conjurer knows that the marshal set out in good spirits,\nand he seems acquainted with M. Robert. How could he be informed of all\nthis? I cannot tell,\" added the soldier, with a thoughtful air; \"but it\nis only another reason to be on one's guard against him.\"\n\n\"But what news of our father?\" asked Rose.\n\n\"One of that old rascal's friends (I think him a rascal still) knows your\nfather, he tells me, and met him five-and-twenty leagues from here.\nKnowing that this man was coming to Paris, the marshal charged him to let\nyou know that he was in perfect health, and hoped soon to see you again.\"\n\n\"Oh, what happiness!\" cried Rose.\n\n\"You see, you were wrong to suspect the poor old man, Dagobert,\" added\nBlanche. \"You treated him so harshly!\"\n\n\"Possibly so; but I am not sorry for it.\"\n\n\"And why?\"\n\n\"I have my reasons; and one of the best is that, when I saw him came in,\nand go sidling and creeping round about us, I felt chilled to the marrow\nof my bones, without knowing why. Had I seen a serpent crawling towards\nyou, I should not have been more frightened. I knew, of course, that he\ncould not hurt you in my presence; but I tell you, my children, in spite\nof the services he has no doubt rendered us, it was all I could do to\nrefrain from throwing him out of the window. Now, this manner of proving\nmy gratitude is not natural, and one must be on one's guard against\npeople who inspire us with such ideas.\"\n\n\"Good Dagobert, it is your affection for us that makes you so\nsuspicious,\" said Rose, in a coaxing tone; \"it proves how much you love\nus.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LV.\n\nTHE IMPROVISED HOSPITAL\n\nAmong a great number of temporary hospitals opened at the time of the\ncholera in every quarter of Paris, one had been established on the\nground-floor of a large house in the Rue du Mont-Blanc. The vacant\napartments had been generously placed by their proprietor at the disposal\nof the authorities; and to this place were carried a number of persons,\nwho, being suddenly attacked with the contagion, were considered in too\ndangerous a state to be removed to the principal hospitals.\n\nTwo days had elapsed since Rodin's visit to Marshal Simon's daughters.\nShortly after he had been expelled, the Princess de Saint-Dizier had\nentered to see them, under the cloak of being a house-to-house visitor to\ncollect funds for the cholera sufferers.\n\nChoosing the moment when Dagobert, deceived by her lady-like demeanor,\nhad withdrawn, she counselled the twins that it was their duty to go and\nsee their governess, whom she stated to be in the hospital we now\ndescribe.\n\nIt was about ten o'clock in the morning. The persons who had watched\nduring the night by the sick people, in the hospital established in the\nRue du Mont-Blanc, were about to be relieved by other voluntary\nassistants.\n\n\"Well, gentlemen,\" said one of those newly arrived, \"how are we getting\non? Has there been any decrease last night in the number of the sick?\"\n\n\"Unfortunately, no; but the doctors think the contagion has reached its\nheight.\"\n\n\"Then there is some hope of seeing it decrease.\"\n\n\"And have any of the gentlemen, whose places we come to take, been\nattacked by the disease?\"\n\n\"We came eleven strong last night; we are only nine now.\"\n\n\"That is bad. Were these two persons taken off rapidly?\"\n\n\"One of the victims, a young man of twenty-five years of age, a cavalry\nofficer on furlough, was struck as it were by lightning. In less than a\nquarter of an hour he was dead. Though such facts are frequent, we were\nspeechless with horror.\"\n\n\"Poor young man!\"\n\n\"He had a word of cordial encouragement and hope for every one. He had\nso far succeeded in raising the spirits of the patients, that some of\nthem who were less affected by the cholera than by the fear of it, were\nable to quit the hospital nearly well.\"\n\n\"What a pity! So good a young man! Well, he died gloriously; it requires\nas much courage as on the field of battle.\"\n\n\"He had only one rival in zeal and courage, and that is a Young priest,\nwith an angelic countenance, whom they call the Abbe Gabriel. He is\nindefatigable; he hardly takes an hour's rest, but runs from one to the\nother, and offers himself to everybody. He forgets nothing. The\nconsolation; which he offers come from the depths of his soul, and are\nnot mere formalities in the way of his profession. No, no, I saw him weep\nover a poor woman, whose eyes he had closed after a dreadful agony. Oh,\nif all priests were like him!\"\n\n\"No doubt, a good priest is most worthy of respect. But! who is the other\nvictim of last night?\"\n\n\"Oh! his death was frightful. Do not speak of it. I have still the\nhorrible scene before my eyes.\"\n\n\"A sudden attack of cholera?\"\n\n\"If it had only been the contagion, I should not so shudder at the\nremembrance.\"\n\n\"What then did he die of?\"\n\n\"It is a string of horrors. Three days ago, they brought here a man, who\nwas supposed to be only attacked with cholera. You have no doubt heard\nspeak of this personage. He is the lion-tamer, that drew all Paris to the\nPorte-Saint-Martin.\"\n\n\"I know the man you mean. Called Morok. He performed a kind of play with\na tame panther.\"\n\n\"Exactly so; I was myself present at a similar scene, which a stranger,\nan Indian, in consequence of a wager, was said at the time, jumped upon\nthe stage and killed the panther.\"\n\n\"Well, this Morok, brought here as a cholera-patient, and indeed with all\nthe symptoms of the contagion, soon showed signs of a still more\nfrightful malady.\"\n\n\"And this was--\"\n\n\"Hydrophobia.\"\n\n\"Did he become mad?\"\n\n\"Yes; he confessed, that he had been bitten a few days before by one of\nthe mastiffs in his menagerie; unfortunately, we only learnt this\ncircumstance after the terrible attack, which cost the life of the poor\nfellow we deplore.\"\n\n\"How did it happen, then?\"\n\n\"Morok was in a room with three other patients. Suddenly seized with a\nsort of furious delirium, he rose, uttering ferocious cries, and rushed\nraving mad into the passage. Our poor friend made an attempt to stop him.\nThis kind of resistance increased the frenzy of Morok, who threw himself\non the man that crossed his path, and, tearing him with his teeth, fell\ndown in horrible convulsions.\"\n\n\"Oh! you are right. 'Twas indeed frightful. And, not withstanding every\nassistance this victim of Morok's--\"\n\n\"Died during the night, in dreadful agony; for the shock had been so\nviolent, that brain-fever almost instantly declared itself.\"\n\n\"And is Morok dead?\"\n\n\"I do not know. He was to be taken to another hospital, after being fast\nbound in the state of weakness which generally succeeds the fit. But,\ntill he can be removed he has been confined in a room upstairs.\"\n\n\"But he cannot recover.\"\n\n\"I should think he must be dead by this time. The doctors did not give\nhim twenty-four hours to live.\"\n\nThe persons engaged in this conversation were standing in an ante-chamber\non the ground-floor, in which usually assembled those who came to offer\ntheir voluntary aid to the sick. One door of this room communicated with\nthe rest of the hospital, and the other with the passage that opened upon\nthe courtyard.\n\n\"Dear me!\" said one of the two speakers, looking through the window. \"See\nwhat two charming girls have just got out of that elegant carriage. How\nmuch alike they are! Such a resemblance is indeed extraordinary.\"\n\n\"No doubt they are twins. Poor young girls! dressed in Mourning. They\nhave perhaps lost father or mother.\"\n\n\"One would imagine they are coming this way.\"\n\n\"Yes, they are coming up the steps.\"\n\nAnd indeed Rose and Blanche soon entered the antechamber, with a timid,\nanxious air, though a sort of feverish excitement was visible in their\nlooks. One of the two men that were talking together, moved by the\nembarrassment of the girls, advanced toward them, and said, in a tone of\nattentive politeness: \"Is there anything I can do for you, ladies?\"\n\n\"Is not this, sir,\" replied Rose, \"the infirmary of the Rue du Mont\nBlanc?\"\n\n\"Yes, miss.\"\n\n\"A lady, called Madame Augustine du Tremblay, was brought here, we are\ntold, about two days ago. Could we see her?\"\n\n\"I would observe to you, miss, that there is some danger in entering the\nsick-wards.\"\n\n\"It is a dear friend that we wish to see,\" answered Rose, in a mild and\nfirm tone, which sufficiently expressed that she was determined to brave\nthe danger.\n\n\"I cannot be sure, miss,\" resumed the other, \"that the person you seek is\nhere; but, if you will take the trouble to walk into this room on the\nleft, you will find there the good Sister Martha; she has the care of the\nwomen's wards, and will give you all the information you can desire.\"\n\n\"Thank you, sir,\" said Blanche, with a graceful bow; and she and her\nsister entered together the apartment which had been pointed out to them.\n\n\"They are really charming,\" said the man, looking after the two sisters,\nwho soon disappeared from his view. \"It would be a great pity if--\"\n\nHe was unable to finish. A frightful tumult, mingled with cries of alarm\nand horror, rose suddenly from the adjoining rooms. Almost instantly, two\ndoors were thrown open, and a number of the sick, half-naked, pale,\nfleshless, and their features convulsed with terror, rushed into the\nantechamber, exclaiming: \"Help! help! the madman!\" It is impossible to\npaint the scene of despairing and furious confusion which followed this\npanic of so many affrighted wretches, flying to the only other door, to\nescape from the perils they dreaded, and there, struggling and trampling\non each other to pass through the narrow entrance.\n\nAt the moment when the last of these unhappy creatures succeeded in\nreaching the door, dragging himself along upon his bleeding hands, for he\nhad been thrown down and almost crushed in the confusion--Morok, the\nobject of so much terror--Morok himself appeared. He was a horrible\nsight. With the exception of a rag bound about his middle, his wan form\nwas entirely naked, and from his bare legs still hung the remnants of the\ncords he had just broken. His thick, yellow hair stood almost on end, his\nbeard bristled, his savage eyes rolled full of blood in their orbits, and\nshone with a glassy brightness; his lips were covered with foam; from\ntime to time, he uttered hoarse, guttural cries. The veins, visible on\nhis iron limbs were swollen almost to bursting. He bounded like a wild\nbeast, and stretched out before him his bony and quivering hands. At the\nmoment Morok reached the doorway, by which those he pursued made their\nescape, some persons, attracted by the noise, managed to close this door\nfrom without, whilst others secured that which communicated with the\nsick-ward.\n\nMorok thus found himself a prisoner. He ran to the window to force it\nopen, and threw himself into the courtyard. But, stopping suddenly, he\ndrew back from the glittering panes, seized with that invincible horror\nwhich all the victims of hydrophobia feel at the sight of any shining\nobject, particularly glass. The unfortunate creatures whom he had\npursued, saw him from the courtyard exhausting himself in furious efforts\nto open the doors that just had been closed upon him. Then, perceiving\nthe inutility of his attempts, he uttered savage cries, and rushed\nfuriously round the room, like a wild beast that seeks in vain to escape\nfrom its cage.\n\nBut, suddenly, those spectators of this scene, who had approached nearest\nto the window, uttered a loud exclamation of fear and anguish. Morok had\nperceived the little door which led to the closet occupied by Sister\nMartha, where Rose and Blanche had entered a few minutes before. Hoping\nto get out by this way, Morok drew the door violently towards him, and\nsucceeded in half opening it, notwithstanding the resistance he\nexperienced from the inside. For an instant the affrighted crowd saw the\nstiffened arms Of Sister Martha and the orphans, clinging to the door,\nand holding it back with all their might.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LVI.\n\nHYDROPHOBIA.\n\nWhen the sick people, assembled in the courtyard, saw the desperate\nefforts of Morok to force the door of the room which contained Sister\nMartha and the orphans, their fright redoubled. \"It is all over, Sister\nMartha!\" cried they.\n\n\"The door will give way.\"\n\n\"And the closet has no other entrance.\"\n\n\"There are two young girls in mourning with her.\"\n\n\"Come! we must not leave these poor women to encounter the madman. Follow\nme, friends!\" cried generously one of the spectators, who was still\nblessed with health, and he rushed towards the steps to return to the\nante-chamber.\n\n\"It's too late! it's only exposing yourself in vain,\" cried many persons,\nholding him back by force.\n\nAt this moment, voices were heard, exclaiming: \"Here is the Abbe\nGabriel.\"\n\n\"He is coming downstairs. He has heard the noise.\"\n\n\"He is asking what is the matter.\"\n\n\"What will he do?\"\n\nGabriel, occupied with a dying person in a neighboring room, had, indeed,\njust learned that Morok, having broken his bonds, had succeeded in\nescaping from the chamber in which he had been temporarily confined.\nForeseeing the terrible dangers which might result from the escape of the\nlion-tamer, the missionary consulted only his courage, and hastened down,\nin the hope of preventing greater misfortunes. In obedience to his\norders, an attendant followed him, bearing a brazier full of hot cinders,\non which lay several irons, at a white heat, used by the doctors for\ncauterizing, in desperate cases of cholera.\n\nThe angelic countenance of Gabriel was very pale; but calm intrepidity\nshone upon his noble brow. Hastily crossing the passage, and making his\nway through the crowd, he went straight to the ante-chamber door. As he\napproached it, one of the sick people said to him, in a lamentable voice;\n\"Ah, sir! it is all over. Those who can see through the window say that\nSister Martha is lost.\"\n\nGabriel made no answer, but grasped the key of the door. Before entering\nthe room, however, he turned to the attendant, and said to him in a firm\nvoice: \"Are the irons of a white heat?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Then wait here, and be ready. As for you, my friends,\" he added, turning\nto some of the sick, who shuddered with terror, \"as soon as I enter shut\nthe door after me. I will answer for the rest. And you; friend, only\nbring your irons when I call.\"\n\nAnd the young missionary turned the key in the lock. At this juncture, a\ncry of alarm, pity, and admiration rose from every lip, and the\nspectators drew back from the door, with an involuntary feeling of fear.\nRaising his eyes to heaven, as if to invoke its assistance at this\nterrible moment, Gabriel pushed open the door, and immediately closed it\nbehind him. He was alone with Morok.\n\nThe lion-tamer, by a last furious effort, had almost succeeded in opening\nthe door, to which Sister Martha and the orphans were clinging, in a fit\nof terror, uttering piercing cries. At the sound of Gabriel's footsteps,\nMorok turned round suddenly. Then, instead of continuing his attack on\nthe closet, he sprang, with a roar and a bound, upon the new-comer.\n\nDuring this time, Sister Martha and the orphans, not knowing the cause of\nthe sudden retreat of their assailant, took advantage of the opportunity\nto close and bolt the door, and thus placed themselves in security from a\nnew attack. Morok, with haggard eye, and teeth convulsively clinched, had\nrushed upon Gabriel, his hands extended to seize him by the throat. The\nmissionary stood the shock valiantly. Guessing, at a glance, the\nintention of his adversary, he seized him by the wrists as he advanced,\nand, holding him back, bent him down violently with a vigorous hand. For\na second, Morok and Gabriel remained mute, breathless, motionless, gazing\non each other; then the missionary strove to conquer the efforts of the\nmadman, who, with violent jerks, attempted to throw himself upon him, and\nto seize and tear him with his teeth.\n\nSuddenly the lion-tamer's strength seemed to fail, his knees quivered,\nhis livid head sank upon his shoulder, his eyes closed. The missionary,\nsupposing that a momentary weakness had succeeded to the fit of rage, and\nthat the wretch was about to fall, relaxed his hold in order to lend him\nassistance. But no sooner did he feel himself at liberty, thanks to his\ncrafty device, than Morok flung himself furiously upon Gabriel. Surprised\nby this sudden attack, the latter stumbled, and at once felt himself\nclasped into the iron arms of the madman. Yet, with redoubled strength\nand energy, struggling breast to breast, foot to foot, the missionary in\nhis turn succeeded in tripping up his adversary, and, throwing him with a\nvigorous effort, again seized his hands, and now held him down beneath\nhis knee. Having thus completely mastered him, Gabriel turned his head to\ncall for assistance, when Morok, by a desperate strain, succeeded in\nraising himself a little, and seized with his teeth the left arm of the\nmissionary. At this sharp, deep, horrible bite, which penetrated to the\nvery bone, Gabriel could not restrain a scream of anguish and horror. He\nstrove in vain to disengage himself, for his arm was held fast, as in a\nvice, between the firm-set jaws of Morok.\n\nThis frightful scene had lasted less time than it has taken in the\ndescription, when suddenly the door leading to the passage was violently\nopened, and several courageous men, who had learned from the patients to\nwhat danger the young priest was exposed, came rushing to his assistance,\nin spite of his recommendation not to enter till he should call. The\nattendant was amongst the number, with the brazier and the hot irons.\nGabriel, as soon as he perceived him, said to him in an agitated voice:\n\"Quick, friend! your iron. Thank God I had thought of that.\"\n\nOne of the men who had entered the room was luckily provided with a\nblanket; and the moment the missionary succeeded in wresting his arm from\nthe clinched teeth of Morok, whom he still held down with his knee, this\nblanket was thrown over the madman's head, so that he could now be held\nand bound without danger, notwithstanding his desperate resistance. Then\nGabriel rose, tore open the sleeve of his cassock, and laying bare his\nleft arm, on which a deep bite was visible, bleeding, of a bluish color,\nhe beckoned the attendant to draw near, seized one of the hot irons, and,\nwith a firm and sure hand, twice applied the burning metal to the wound,\nwith a calm heroism which struck all the spectators, with admiration. But\nsoon so many various emotions, intrepidly sustained, were followed by a\nnatural reaction. Large drops of sweat stood upon Gabriel's brow; his\nlong light hair clung to his temples; he grew deadly pale, reeled, lost\nhis senses, and was carried into the next room to receive immediate\nattention.\n\nAn accidental circumstance, likely enough to occur, had converted one of\nthe Princess de Saint-Dizier's falsehoods into a truth. To induce the\norphans to go to the hospital, she had told them Gabriel was there, which\nat the time she was far from believing. On the contrary, she would have\nwished to prevent a meeting, which, from the attachment of the missionary\nto the girls, might interfere with her projects. A little while after the\nterrible scene we have just related, Rose and Blanche, accompanied by\nSister Martha, entered a vast room, of a strange and fatal aspect,\ncontaining a number of women who had suddenly been seized with cholera.\n\nThese immense apartments, generously supplied for the purpose of a\ntemporary hospital, had been furnished with excessive luxury. The room\nnow occupied by the sick women, of whom we speak, had been used for a\nball-room. The white panels glittered with sumptuous gilding, and\nmagnificent pier-glasses occupied the spaces between the windows, through\nwhich could be seen the fresh verdure of a pleasant garden, smiling\nbeneath the influence of budding May. In the midst of all this gilded\nluxury, on a rich, inlaid floor of costly woods, were seen arranged in\nregular order four rows of beds, of every shape and kind, from the humble\ntruckle-bed to the handsome couch in carved mahogany.\n\nThis long room was divided into two compartments by a temporary\npartition, four or five feet in height. They had thus been able to manage\nthe four rows of beds. This partition finished at some little distance\nfrom either end of the room, so as to leave an open space without beds,\nfor the volunteer attendants, when the sick did not require their aid. At\none of these extremities of the room was a lofty and magnificent marble\nchimney piece, ornamented with gilt bronze. On the fire beneath, various\ndrinks were brewing for the patients. To complete the singular picture,\nwomen of every class took their turns in attending upon the sick, to\nwhose sighs and groans they always responded with consoling words of hope\nand pity. Such was the place, strange and mournful, that Rose and Blanche\nentered together, hand in hand, a short time after Gabriel had displayed\nsuch heroic courage in the struggle against Morok. Sister Martha\naccompanied Marshal Simon's daughters. After speaking a few words to them\nin a whisper, she pointed out to them the two divisions in which the beds\nwere arranged, and herself went to the other end of the room to give some\norders.\n\nThe orphans, still under the impression of the terrible danger from which\nGabriel had rescued them without their knowing it, were both excessively\npale; yet their eyes were expressive of firm resolution. They had\ndetermined not only to perform what they considered an imperative duty,\nbut to prove themselves worthy of their valiant father; they were acting\ntoo for their mother's sake, since they had been told that, dying in\nSiberia without receiving the sacrament, her eternal felicity might\ndepend on the proofs they gave of Christian devotion. Need we add that\nthe Princess de Saint-Dizier, following the advice of Rodin, had, in a\nsecond interview, skillfully brought about without the knowledge of\nDagobert, taken advantage of the excitable qualities of these poor,\nconfiding, simple, and generous souls, by a fatal exaggeration of the\nmost noble and courageous sentiments. The orphans having asked Sister\nMartha if Madame Augustine du Tremblay had been brought to this asylum\nwithin the last three days, that person had answered, that she really did\nnot know, but, if they would go through the women's wards, it would be\neasy for them to ascertain. For the abominable hypocrite, who, in\nconjunction with Rodin, had sent these two children to encounter a mortal\nperil, had told an impudent falsehood when she affirmed that their\ngoverness had been removed to this hospital. During their exile, and\ntheir toilsome journey with Dagobert, the sisters had been exposed to\nmany hard trials. But never had they witnessed so sad a spectacle as that\nwhich now offered itself to their view.\n\nThe long row of beds, on which so many poor creatures writhed in agony,\nsome uttering deep groans, some only a dull rattle in the throat, some\nraving in the delirium of fever, or calling on those from whom they were\nabout to part forever--these frightful sights and sounds, which are too\nmuch even for brave men, would inevitably, (such was the execrable design\nof Rodin and his accomplices) make a fatal impression on these young\ngirls, urged by the most generous motives to undertake this perilous\nvisit. And then--sad memory! which awoke, in all its deep and poignant\nbitterness, by the side of the first beds they came to--it was of this\nvery malady, the Cholera, that their mother had died a painful death.\nFancy the twins entering this vast room, of so fearful an aspect, and,\nalready much shaken by the terror which Morok had inspired, pursuing\ntheir search in the midst of these unfortunate creatures, whose dying\npangs reminded them every instant of the dying agony of their mother! For\na moment, at sight of the funeral hall, Rose and Blanche had felt their\nresolution fail them. A black presentiment made them regret their heroic\nimprudence; and, moreover, since several minutes they had begun to feel\nan icy shudder, and painful shootings across the temples; but,\nattributing these symptoms to the fright occasioned by Morok, their good\nand valiant natures soon stifled all these fears. They exchanged glances\nof affection, their courage revived, and both of them--Rose on one side\nof the partition, and Blanche on the other--proceeded with their painful\ntask. Gabriel, carried to the doctors' private room, had soon recovered\nhis senses. Thanks to his courage and presence of mind, his wound,\ncauterized in time, could have no dangerous consequences. As soon as it\nwas dressed he insisted on returning to the women's ward, where he had be\noffering pious consolations to a dying person at the moment they had come\nto inform him of the frightful danger caused by the escape of Morok.\n\nA few minutes before the missionary entered the room, Rose and Blanche\narrived almost together at the term of their mournful search, one from\nthe left, the other from the right-hand row of beds, separated by the\npartition which divided the hall into compartments. The sisters had not\nyet seen each other. Their steps tottered as they advanced, and they were\nforced, from time to time, to lean against the beds as they passed along.\nTheir strength was--rapidly failing them. Giddy with fear and pain, they\nappeared to act almost mechanically. Alas! the orphans had been seized\nalmost at the same moment with the terrible symptoms of cholera. In\nconsequence of that species of physiological phenomenon, of which we have\nalready spoken--a phenomenon by no means rare in twins, which had already\nbeen displayed on one or two occasions of their sickness--their\norganizations seemed liable to the same sensations, the same simultaneous\naccidents, like two flowers on one stem, which bloom and fade together.\nThe sight of so much suffering, and so many deaths, had accelerated the\ndevelopment of this dreadful disease. Already, on their agitated and\naltered countenances, they bore the mortal tokens of the contagion, as\nthey came forth, each on her own side, from the two subdivisions of the\nroom in which they had vainly sought their governess. Until now separated\nby the partition, Rose and Blanche had not yet seen each other; but, when\nat length their eyes met, there ensued a heart rending scene.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LVII.\n\nTHE GUARDIAN ANGEL.\n\nTo the charming freshness of the sisters' faces had succeeded a livid\npallor. Their large blue eyes, now hollow and sunk in, appeared of\nenormous dimensions. Their lips, once so rosy, were now suffused with a\nviolet hue, and a similar color was gradually displacing the transparent\ncarmine of their cheeks and fingers. It was as if all the roses in their\ncharming countenances were fading and turning blue before the icy blast\nof death.\n\nWhen the orphans met, tottering and hardly able to sustain themselves, a\ncry of mutual horror burst from their lips. Each of them exclaimed, at\nsight of the fearful change in her sister's features. \"Are you also ill,\nsister?\" And then, bursting into tears, they threw themselves into each\nother's arms, and looked anxiously at one another.\n\n\"Good heaven, Rose! how pale you are!\"\n\n\"Like you, sister.\"\n\n\"And do you feel a cold shudder?\"\n\n\"Yes, and my sight fails me.\"\n\n\"My bosom is all on fire.\"\n\n\"Sister, we are perhaps going to die.\"\n\n\"Let it only be together!\"\n\n\"And our poor father?\"\n\n\"And Dagobert?\"\n\n\"Sister, our dream has come true!\" cried Rose, almost deliriously, as she\nthrew her arms round Blanche's neck. \"Look! look! the Angel Gabriel is\nhere to fetch us.\"\n\nIndeed, at this moment, Gabriel entered the open space at the end of the\nroom. \"Heaven! what do I see?\" cried the young priest. \"The daughters of\nMarshal Simon!\"\n\nAnd, rushing forward, he received the sisters in his arms, for they were\nno longer able to stand. Already their drooping heads, their half-closed\neyes, their painful and difficult breathing, announced the approach of\ndeath. Sister Martha was close at hand. She hastened to respond to the\ncall of Gabriel. Aided by this pious woman, he was able to lift the\norphans upon a bed reserved for the doctor in attendance. For fear that\nthe sight of this mournful agony should make too deep an impression on\nthe other patients, Sister Martha drew a large curtain, and the sisters\nwere thus in some sort walled off from the rest of the room. Their hands\nhad been so tightly clasped together, during a nervous paroxysm, that it\nwas impossible to separate them. It was in this position that the first\nremedies were applied--remedies incapable of conquering the violence of\nthe disease, but which at least mitigated for a few moments the excessive\npains they suffered, and restored some faint glimmer of perception to\ntheir obscured and troubled senses. At this moment, Gabriel was leaning\nover the bed with a look of inexpressible grief. With breaking heart, and\nface bathed in tears, he thought of the strange destiny, which thus made\nhim a witness of the death of these girls, his relations, whom but a few\nmonths before he had rescued from the horrors of the tempest. In spite of\nhis firmness of soul, the missionary could not help shuddering as he\nreflected on the fate of the orphans, the death of Jacques Rennepont, and\nthe fearful devices by which M. Hardy, retired to the cloistered solitude\nof St. Herein, had become a member of the Society of Jesus almost in\ndying. The missionary said to himself, that already four members of the\nRennepont family--his family--had been successively struck down by some\ndreadful fate; and he asked himself with alarm, how it was that the\ndetestable interests of the Society of Loyola should be served by a\nprovidential fatality? The astonishment of the young missionary would\nhave given place to the deepest horror, could he have known the part that\nRodin and his accomplices had taken, both in the death of Jacques\nRennepont, by exciting, through Morok, the evil propensities of the\nartisan, and in the approaching end of Rose and Blanche, by converting,\nthrough the Princess de Saint-Dizier, the generous inspirations of the\norphans into suicidal heroism.\n\nRoused for a moment from the painful stupor in which they had been\nplunged, Rose and Blanche half-opened their large eyes, already dull and\nfaded. Then, more and more bewildered they both gazed fixedly at the\nangelic countenance of Gabriel.\n\n\"Sister,\" said Rose, in a faint voice, \"do you see the archangel--as in\nour dreams, in Germany?\"\n\n\"Yes--three days ago--he appeared to us.\"\n\n\"He is come to fetch us.\"\n\n\"Alas! will our death save our poor mother from purgatory?\"\n\n\"Angel! blessed angel! pray God for our mother--and for us!\" Until now,\nstupefied with amazement and sorrow, almost suffocated with sobs, Gabriel\nhad not been able to utter a word. But at these words of the orphans, he\nexclaimed: \"Dear children, why doubt of your mother's salvation? Oh!\nnever did a purer soul ascend to its Creator. Your mother? I know from my\nadopted father, that her virtues and courage were the admiration of all\nwho knew her. Oh! believe me; God has blessed her.\"\n\n\"Do you hear, sister?\" cried Rose, as a ray of celestial joy illumined\nfor an instant the livid faces of the orphans. \"God has blessed our\nmother.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" resumed Gabriel; \"banish these gloomy ideas. Take courage,\npoor children! You must not die. Think of your father.\"\n\n\"Our father?\" said Blanche, shuddering; and she continued, with a mixture\nof reason and wild excitement, which would have touched the soul of the\nmost indifferent: \"Alas! he will not find us on his return. Forgive us,\nfather! we did not think to do any harm. We wished, like you, to do\nsomething generous--to help our governess.\"\n\n\"And we did not think to die so quickly, and so soon. Yesterday, we were\ngay and happy.\"\n\n\"Oh, good angel! you will appear to our father, even as you have appeared\nto us. You will tell him that, in dying--the last thought of his\nchildren--was of him.\"\n\n\"We came here without Dagobert's knowing it--do not let our father scold\nhim.\"\n\n\"Blessed angel!\" resumed the other sister in a still more feeble voice;\n\"appear to Dagobert, also. Tell him, that we ask his forgiveness, for the\ngrief our death will occasion him.\"\n\n\"And let our old friend caress our poor Spoil-sport for us--our faithful\nguardian,\" added Blanche, trying to smile.\n\n\"And then,\" resumed Rose, in a voice that was growing still fainter,\n\"promise to appear to two other persons, that have been so kind to\nus--good Mother Bunch--and the beautiful Lady Adrienne.\"\n\n\"We forget none whom we have loved,\" said Blanche, with a last effort.\n\"Now, God grant we may go to our mother, never to leave her more!\"\n\n\"You promised it good angel--you know you did--in the dream. You said to\nus: 'Poor children--come from so far--you will have traversed the\nearth--to rest on the maternal bosom!'\"\n\n\"Oh! it is dreadful--dreadful! So young--and no hope!\" murmured Gabriel,\nas he buried his face in his hands. \"Almighty Father! Thy views are\nimpenetrable. Alas! yet why should these children die this cruel death?\"\n\nRose heaved a deep sigh and said in an expiring tone: \"Let us be buried\ntogether!--united in life, in death not divided--\"\n\nAnd the two turned their dying looks upon Gabriel, and stretched out\ntowards him their supplicating hands.\n\n\"Oh, blessed martyrs to a generous devotion!\" cried the missionary,\nraising to heaven his eyes streaming with tears. \"Angelic souls!\ntreasures of innocence and truth! ascend, ascend to heaven--since God\ncalls you to him, and the earth is not worthy to possess you!\"\n\n\"Sister! father!\" were the last words that the orphans pronounced with\ntheir dying voices.\n\nAnd then the twins, by a last instinctive impulse, endeavored to clasp\neach other, and their eyes half-opened to exchange yet another glance.\nThey shuddered twice or thrice, their limbs stiffened, a deep sigh\nstruggled from their violet-colored lips. Rose and Blanche were both\ndead! Gabriel and Sister Martha, after closing the eyes of the orphans,\nknelt down to pray by the side of that funeral couch. Suddenly a great\ntumult was heard in the room. Rapid footsteps, mingled with imprecations,\nsounded close at hand, the curtain was drawn aside from this mournful\nscene, and Dagobert entered precipitately, pale, haggard, his dress in\ndisorder. At sight of Gabriel and the Sister of Charity kneeling beside\nthe corpses of his children, the soldier uttered a terrible roar, and\ntried to advance--but in vain--for, before Gabriel could reach him,\nDagobert fell flat on the ground, and his gray head struck violently on\nthe floor.\n\nIt is night--a dark and stormy night. One o'clock in the morning has just\nsounded from the church of Montmartre. It is to the cemetery of\nMontmartre that is carried the coffin which, according to the last wishes\nof Rose and Blanche contains them both. Through the thick shadow, which\nrests upon that field of death, may be seen moving a pale light. It is\nthe gravedigger. He advances with caution; a dark lantern is in his hand.\nA man wrapped in a cloak accompanies him. He holds down his head and\nweeps. It is Samuel. The old Jew--the keeper of the house in the Rue\nSaint-Francois. On the night of the funeral of Jacques Rennepont, the\nfirst who died of the seven heirs, and who was buried in another\ncemetery, Samuel had a similar mysterious interview with the gravedigger,\nto obtain a favor at the price of gold. A strange and awful favor! After\npassing down several paths, bordered with cypress trees, by the side of\nmany tombs, the Jew and the gravedigger arrived, at a little glade,\nsituated near the western wall of the cemetery. The night was so dark,\nthat scarcely anything could be seen. After moving his lantern up and\ndown, and all about, the gravedigger showed Samuel, at the foot of a tall\nyew-tree, with long black branches, a little mound of newly-raised earth,\nand said: \"It is here.\"\n\n\"You are sure of it?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--two bodies in one coffin! it is not such a common thing.\"\n\n\"Alas! two in the same coffin!\" said the Jew, with a deep sigh.\n\n\"Now that you know the place, what do you want more?\" asked the\ngravedigger.\n\nSamuel did not answer. He fell on his knees, and piously kissed the\nlittle mound. Then rising, with his cheeks bathed in tears, he approached\nthe gravedigger, and spoke to him for some moments in a whisper--though\nthey were alone, and in the centre of that deserted place. Then began\nbetween those two men a mysterious dialogue, which the night enveloped in\nshade and silence. The gravedigger, alarmed at what Samuel asked him, at\nfirst refused his request.\n\nBut the Jew, employing persuasions, entreaties, tears, and at last the\nseduction of the jingling gold, succeeded in conquering the scruples of\nthe gravedigger. Though the latter trembled at the thought of what he\npromised, he said to Samuel in an agitated tone: \"To-morrow night, then,\nat two o'clock.\"\n\n\"I shall be behind the wall,\" answered Samuel, pointing out the place\nwith the aid of a lantern. \"I will throw three stones into the cemetery,\nfor a signal.\"\n\n\"Yes, three stones--as a signal,\" replied the gravedigger shuddering, and\nwiping the cold sweat from his forehead.\n\nWith considerable remains of vigor, notwithstanding his great age, Samuel\navailed himself of the broken surface of the low wall, and climbing over\nit, soon disappeared. The gravedigger returned home with hasty strides.\nFrom time to time, he looked fearfully behind him, as though he had been\npursued by some fatal vision.\n\nOn the evening after the funeral of Rose and Blanche, Rodin wrote two\nletters. The first, addressed to his mysterious correspondent at Rome,\nalluded to the deaths of Jacques Rennepont, and Rose and Blanche Simon,\nas well as to the cession of M. Hardy's property, and the donation of\nGabriel--events which reduced the claimants of the inheritance to\ntwo--Mdlle. de Cardoville and Djalma. This first note written by Rodin\nfor Rome, contained only the following words: \"Five from seven leaves\ntwo. Announce this result to the Cardinal-Prince. Let him go on. I\nadvance advance-advance!\" The second note, in a feigned hand, was\naddressed to Marshal Simon, to be delivered by a sure messenger,\ncontained these few lines: \"If there is yet time, make haste to return.\nYour daughters are both dead. You shall learn who killed them.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LVIII.\n\nRUIN.\n\nIt is the day after the death of Marshal Simon's daughters. Mdlle. de\nCardoville is yet ignorant of the sad end of her young relatives. Her\ncountenance is radiant with happiness, and never has she looked more\nbeautiful; her eye has never been more brilliant, her complexion more\ndazzling white, her lip of a richer coral. According to her somewhat\neccentric custom of dressing herself in her own house in a picturesque\nstyle, Adrienne wears to-day, though it is about three o'clock in the\nafternoon, a pale green watered-silk dress, with a very full skirt, the\nsleeves and bodice slashed with rose-colored ribbon, and adorned with\nwhite bugle-beads, of exquisite workmanship; while a slender network,\nalso of white bugle-beads, concealing the thick plait of Adrienne's back\nhair, forms an oriental head-dress of charming originality, and contrasts\nagreeably with the long curls which fall in front almost to the swell of\nthe bosom. To the expression of indescribable happiness which marks the\nfeatures of Mdlle. de Cardoville, is added a certain resolute, cutting,\nsatirical air, which is not habitual to her. Her charming head, and\ngraceful, swan-like neck, are raised in an attitude of defiance; her\nsmall, rose-colored nostrils seem to dilate with ill-repressed ardor, and\nshe waits with haughty impatience for the moment of an aggressive and\nironical interview. Not far from Adrienne is Mother Bunch. She has\nresumed in the house the place which she at first occupied. The young\nsempstress is in mourning for her sister, but her countenance is\nexpressive of a mild, calm sorrow. She looks at Mdlle. de Cardoville with\nsurprise; for never, till now, has she seen the features of the fair\npatrician impressed with such a character of ironical audacity. Mdlle. de\nCardoville was exempt from the slightest coquetry, in the narrow and\nordinary sense of the word. Yet she now cast an inquiring look at the\nglass before which she was standing, and, having restored the elastic\nsmoothness to one of her long, golden curls, by rolling it for a moment\nround her ivory finger, she carefully effaced with her hands some almost\nimperceptible folds, which had formed themselves in the thick material of\nher elegant corsage. This movement, and that of turning her back to the\nglass, to see if her dress sat perfectly on all points, revealed, in\nserpentine undulations, all the charms and graces of her light and\nelegant figure; for, in spite of the rich fulness of her shoulders, white\nand firm as sculptured alabaster, Adrienne belonged to that class of\nprivileged persons, who are able at need to make a girdle out of a\ngarter.\n\nHaving performed, with indescribable grace, these charming evolutions of\nfeminine coquetry, Adrienne turned towards Mother Bunch, whose surprise\nwas still on the increase, and said to her, smiling: \"My dear Magdalen,\ndo not laugh at my question--but what would you say to a picture, that\nshould represent me as I am now?\"\n\n\"Why, lady--\"\n\n\"There you are again, with your lady-ing,\" said Adrienne, in a tone of\ngentle reproach.\n\n\"Well, then, Adrienne,\" resumed Mother Bunch, \"I think it would be a\ncharming picture, for you are dressed, as usual with perfect taste.\"\n\n\"But am I not better dressed than on other days, my dear poetess? I began\nby telling you that I do not ask the question for my own sake,\" said\nAdrienne, gayly.\n\n\"Well, I suppose so,\" replied Mother Bunch, with a faint smile. \"It is\ncertainly impossible to imagine anything that would suit you better. The\nlight green and the pale rose-color, with the soft lustre of the white\nornaments, harmonize so well with your golden hair, that I cannot\nconceive, I tell you, a more graceful picture.\"\n\nThe speaker felt what she said, and she was happy to be able to express\nit, for we know the intense admiration of that poetic soul for all that\nwas beautiful.\n\n\"Well!\" went on Adrienne, gayly, \"I am glad, my dear, that you find me\nbetter dressed than usual.\"\n\n\"Only,\" said the hunchback, hesitating.\n\n\"Only?\" repeated Adrienne, looking at her with an air of interrogation.\n\n\"Why, only,\" continued the other, \"if I have never seen you look more\npretty, I have also never observed in your features the resolute and\nironical expression which they had just now. It was like an air of\nimpatient defiance.\"\n\n\"And so it was, my dear little Magdalen,\" said Adrienne, throwing her\narms round the girl's neck with joyous tenderness. \"I must kiss you, for\nhaving guessed it. You see, I expect a visit from my dear aunt.\"\n\n\"The Princess de Saint-Dizier?\" cried Mother Bunch, in alarm. \"That\nwicked lady, who did you so much evil?\"\n\n\"The very same. She has asked for an interview, and I shall be delighted\nto receive her.\"\n\n\"Delighted?\"\n\n\"Yes--a somewhat ironical and malicious delight, it is true,\" answered\nAdrienne, still more gayly. \"You shall judge for yourself. She regrets\nher gallantries, her beauty, her youth--even her size afflicts the holy\nwoman!--and she will see me young, fair, beloved--and above all\nthin--yes, thin,\" added Mdlle. de Cardoville, laughing merrily. \"And you\nmay imagine, my dear, how much envy and despair, the sight of a young,\nthin woman excites in a stout one of a certain age!\"\n\n\"My friend,\" said Mother Bunch, gravely, \"you speak in jest. And yet, I\nknow not why, the coming of this princess alarms me.\"\n\n\"Dear, gentle soul, be satisfied!\" answered Adrienne, affectionately. \"I\ndo not fear this woman--I no longer have any fear of her--and to prove it\nto her confusion, I will treat her--a monster of hypocrisy and\nwickedness, who comes here, no doubt, on some abominable design--I will\ntreat her as an inoffensive, ridiculous fat woman!\" And Adrienne again\nlaughed.\n\nA servant here entered the room, and interrupted the mirth of Adrienne,\nby saying: \"The Princess de Saint-Dizier wishes to know if you can\nreceive her?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville; and the servant retired. Mother\nBunch was about to rise and quit the room; but Adrienne held her back,\nand said to her, taking her hand with an air of serious tenderness:\n\"Stay, my dear friend, I entreat you.\"\n\n\"Do you wish it?\"\n\n\"Yes; I wish--still in revenge, you know,\" said Adrienne, with a smile,\n\"to prove to her highness of Saint-Dizier, that I have an affectionate\nfriend--that I have, in fact, every happiness.\"\n\n\"But, Adrienne,\" replied the other, timidly, \"consider--\"\n\n\"Silence! here is the princess. Remain! I ask it as a favor. The instinct\nof your heart will discover any snare she may have laid. Did not your\naffection warn me of the plots of Rodin?\"\n\nMother Bunch could not refuse such a request. She remained, but was about\nto draw back from the fireplace. Adrienne, however, took her by the hand,\nand made her resume her seat in the arm-chair, saying: \"My dear Magdalen,\nkeep your place. You owe nothing to the lady. With me it is different;\nshe comes to my house.\"\n\nHardly had Adrienne uttered these words, than the princess entered with\nhead erect, and haughty air (we have said, she could carry herself most\nloftily), and advanced with a firm step. The strongest minds have their\nside of puerile weakness; a savage envy, excited by the elegance, wit,\nand beauty of Adrienne, bore a large part in the hatred of the princess\nfor her niece; and though it was idle to think of eclipsing Adrienne, and\nthe Princess de Saint-Dizier did not seriously mean to attempt it, she\ncould not forbear, in preparing for the interview she had demanded,\ntaking more pains even than usual in the arrangement of her dress.\nBeneath her robe of shot silk, she was laced in and tightened to\nexcess--a pressure which considerably increased the color in her cheeks.\nThe throng of jealous and hateful sentiments, which inspired her with\nregard to Adrienne, had so troubled the clearness of her ordinarily calm\njudgment, that, instead of the plain and quiet style, in which, as a\nwoman of tact and taste, she was generally attired, she now committed the\nfolly of wearing a dress of changing hues, and a crimson hat, adorned\nwith a magnificent bird of paradise. Hate, envy, the pride of\ntriumph--for she thought of the skillful perfidy with which she had sent\nto almost certain death the daughters of Marshal Simon--and the execrable\nhope of succeeding in new plots, were all expressed in the countenance of\nthe Princess de Saint-Dizier, as she entered her niece's apartment.\n\nWithout advancing to meet her aunt, Adrienne rose politely from the sofa\non which she was seated, made a half-curtsey, full of grace and dignity,\nand immediately resumed her former posture. Then, pointing to an arm\nchair near the fireplace, at one corner of which sat Mother Bunch, and\nshe herself at the other, she said: \"Pray sit down, your highness.\" The\nprincess turned very red, remained standing, and cast a disdainful glance\nof insolent surprise at the sempstress, who, in compliance with\nAdrienne's wish, only bowed slightly at the entrance of the Princess de\nSaint-Dizier, without offering to give up her place. In acting thus, the\nyoung sempstress followed the dictates of her conscience, which told her\nthat the real superiority did not belong to this base, hypocritical, and\nwicked princess, but rather to such a person as herself, the admirable\nand devoted friend.\n\n\"Let me beg your highness to sit down,\" resumed Adrienne, in a mild tone,\nas she pointed to the vacant chair.\n\n\"The interview I have demanded, niece,\" said the princess \"must be a\nprivate one.\"\n\n\"I have no secrets, madame, from my best friend; you may speak in the\npresence of this young lady.\"\n\n\"I have long known,\" replied Madame de Saint-Dizier, with bitter irony,\n\"that in all things you care little for secrecy, and that you are easy in\nthe choice of what you call your friends. But you will permit me to act\ndifferently from you. If you have no secrets, madame, I have--and I do\nnot choose to confide them to the first comer.\"\n\nSo saying, the pious lady glanced contemptuously at the sempstress. The\nlatter, hurt at the insolent tone of the princess, answered mildly and\nsimply:\n\n\"I do not see what can be the great difference between the first and the\nlast comer to Mdlle. de Cardoville's.\"\n\n\"What! can it speak!\" cried the princess, insolently.\n\n\"It can at least answer, madame,\" replied Mother Bunch, in her calm\nvoice.\n\n\"I wish to see you alone, niece--is that clear?\" said the princess,\nimpatiently, to her niece.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, but I do not quite understand your highness,\" said\nAdrienne, with an air of surprise. \"This young lady, who honors me with\nher friendship, is willing to be present at this interview, which you\nhave asked for--I say she has consented to be present, for it needs, I\nconfess, the kindest condescension in her to resign herself, from\naffection for me, to hear all the graceful, obliging, and charming things\nwhich you have no doubt come hither to communicate.\"\n\n\"Madame--\" began the princess, angrily.\n\n\"Permit me to interrupt your highness,\" returned Adrienne, in a tone of\nperfect amenity, as if she were addressing the most flattering\ncompliments to her visitor. \"To put you quite at your ease with the lady\nhere, I will begin by informing you that she is quite aware of all the\nholy perfidies, pious wrongs, and devout infamies, of which you nearly\nmade me the victim. She knows that you are a mother of the Church, such\nas one sees but few of in these days. May I hope, therefore, that your\nhighness will dispense with this delicate and interesting reserve?\"\n\n\"Really,\" said the princess, with a sort of incensed amazement, \"I\nscarcely know if I wake or sleep.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said Adrienne, in apparent alarm; \"this doubt as to the state\nof your faculties is very shocking, madame. I see that the blood flies to\nyour head, for your face sufficiently shows it; you seem oppressed,\nconfined, uncomfortable--perhaps (we women may say so between ourselves),\nperhaps you are laced a little too tightly, madame?\"\n\nThese words, pronounced by Adrienne with an air of warm interest and\nperfect simplicity, almost choked the princess with rage. She became\ncrimson, seated herself abruptly, and exclaimed: \"Be it so, madame! I\nprefer this reception to any other. It puts me at my ease, as you say.\"\n\n\"Does it indeed, madame?\" said Adrienne, with a smile. \"You may now at\nleast speak frankly all that you feel, which must for you have the charm\nof novelty! Confess that you are obliged to me for enabling you, even for\na moment, to lay aside that mask of piety, amiability, and goodness,\nwhich must be so troublesome to you.\"\n\nAs she listened to the sarcasms of Adrienne (an innocent and excusable\nrevenge, if we consider all the wrongs she had suffered), Mother Bunch\nfelt her heart sink within her; for she dreaded the malignity of the\nprincess, who replied, with the utmost calmness: \"A thousand thanks,\nmadame, for your excellent intentions and sentiments. I appreciate them\nas I ought, and I hope in a short time to prove it to you.\"\n\n\"Well, madame,\" said Adrienne, playfully, \"let us have it all at once. I\nam full of impatient curiosity.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said the princess, feigning in her turn a bitter and ironical\ndelight, \"you are far from having the least notion of what I am about to\nannounce to you.\"\n\n\"Indeed! I fear that your highness's candor and modesty deceive you,\"\nreplied Adrienne, with the same mocking affability; \"for there are very\nfew things on your part that can surprise me, madame. You must be aware\nthat from your highness, I am prepared for anything.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, madame,\" said the princess, laying great stress on her words,\n\"if, for instance, I were to tell you that within twenty-four\nhours--suppose between this and to-morrow-thou will be reduced to\npoverty--\"\n\nThis was so unexpected, that Mdlle. de Cardoville started in spite of\nherself, and Mother Bunch shuddered.\n\n\"Ah, madame!\" said the princess, with triumphant joy and cruel mildness,\nas she watched the growing surprise of her niece, \"confess that I have\nastonished you a little. You were right in giving to our interview the\nturn it has taken. I should have needed all sorts of circumlocution to\nsay to you, 'Niece, to-morrow you will be as poor as you are rich to\nday.' But now I can tell you the fact quite plainly and simply.\"\n\nRecovering from her first amazement, Adrienne replied, with a calm smile,\nwhich checked the joy of the princess: \"Well, I confess frankly, madame,\nthat you have surprised me; I expected from you one of those black pieces\nof malignity, one of those well-laid plots, in which you are known to\nexcel, and I did not think you would make all this fuss about such a\ntrifle.\"\n\n\"To be ruined--completely ruined,\" cried the princess, \"and that by to\nmorrow--you that have been so prodigal, will see your house, furniture,\nhorses, jewels, even the ridiculous dresses of which you are so vain, all\ntaken from you--do you call that a trifle? You, that spend with\nindifference thousands of louis, will be reduced to a pension inferior to\nthe wages you gave your foot-boy--do you call that a trifle?\"\n\nTo her aunt's cruel disappointment, Adrienne, who appeared quite to have\nrecovered her serenity was about to answer accordingly, when the door\nsuddenly opened, and, without being announced, Prince Djalma entered the\nroom. A proud and tender expression of delight beamed from the radiant\nbrow of Adrienne at sight of the prince, and it is impossible to describe\nthe look of triumphant happiness and high disdain that she cast upon the\nPrincess de Saint-Dizier. Djalma himself had never looked more handsome,\nand never had more intense happiness been impressed on a human\ncountenance. The Hindoo wore a long robe of white Cashmere, adorned with\ninnumerable stripes of gold and purple; his turban was of the same color\nand material; a magnificent figured shawl was twisted about his waist. On\nseeing the Indian, whom she had not hoped to meet at Mdlle. de\nCardoville's, the Princess de Saint-Dizier could not at first conceal her\nextreme surprise. It was between these four, then, that the following\nscene took place.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LIX.\n\nMEMORIES.\n\nDjalma, having never before met the Princess de Saint-Dizier at\nAdrienne's, at first appeared rather astonished at her presence. The\nprincess, keeping silence for a moment, contemplated with implacable\nhatred and envy those two beings, both so fair and young, so loving and\nhappy. Suddenly she started, as if she had just remembered something of\ngreat importance, and for some seconds she remained absorbed in thought.\n\nAdrienne and Djalma availed themselves of this interval to gaze fondly on\neach other, with a sort of ardent idolatry, which filled their eyes with\nsweet tears. Then, at a movement of the Princess de Saint-Dizier, who\nseemed to rouse herself from her momentary trance, Mdlle. de Cardoville\nsaid to the young prince, with a smile: \"My dear cousin, I have to repair\nan omission (voluntary, I confess, and for good reasons), in never having\nbefore mentioned to you one of my relations, whom I have now the honor to\npresent to you. The Princess de Saint-Dizier!\"\n\nDjalma bowed; but Mdlle. de Cardoville resumed, just as her aunt was\nabout to make some reply: \"Her Highness of Saint-Dizier came very kindly\nto inform me of an event which is a most fortunate one for me, and of\nwhich I will speak to you hereafter, cousin--unless this amiable lady\nshould wish to deprive me of the pleasure of making such a\ncommunication.\"\n\nThe unexpected arrival of the prince, and the recollections which had\nsuddenly occurred to the princess, had no doubt greatly modified her\nfirst plans: for, instead of continuing the conversation with regard to\nAdrienne's threatened loss of fortune, the princess answered, with a\nbland smile, that covered an odious meaning: \"I should be sorry, prince,\nto deprive my dear and amiable niece of the pleasure of announcing to you\nthe happy news to which she alludes, and which, as a near relative, I\nlost no time in communicating to her. I have here some notes on this\nsubject,\" added the princess, delivering a paper to Adrienne, \"which I\nhope will prove, to her entire satisfaction, the reality of what I have\nannounced to her.\"\n\n\"A thousand thanks, my dear aunt,\" said Adrienne, receiving the paper\nwith perfect indifference; \"these precautions and proofs are quite\nsuperfluous. You know that I always believe you on your word, when it\nconcerns your good feeling towards myself.\"\n\nNotwithstanding his ignorance of the refined perfidy and cruel politeness\nof civilized life, Djalma, endowed with a tact and fineness of perception\ncommon to most natures of extreme susceptibility, felt some degree of\nmental discomfort as he listened to this exchange of false compliments.\nHe could not guess their full meaning, but they sounded hollow to his\near; and moreover, whether from instinct or presentiment, he had\nconceived a vague dislike for the Princess de Saint-Dizier. That pious\nlady, full of the great affair in hand, was a prey to the most violent\nagitation, which betrayed itself in the growing color of her cheeks, her\nbitter smile, and the malicious brightness of her glance. As he gazed on\nthis woman, Djalma was unable to conquer his rising antipathy, and he\nremained silent and attentive, whilst his handsome countenance lost\nsomething of its former serenity. Mother Bunch also felt the influence of\na painful impression. She glanced in terror at the princess, and then\nimploringly at Adrienne, as though she entreated the latter to but an end\nto an interview of which the young sempstress foresaw the fatal\nconsequences. But, unfortunately, the Princess de Saint-Dizier was too\nmuch interested in prolonging this conversation; and Mdlle. de\nCardoville, gathering new courage and confidence from the presence of the\nman she adored, took delight in vexing the princess with the exhibition\nof their happy love.\n\nAfter a short silence, the Princess de Saint-Dizier observed, in a soft\nand insinuating tone: \"Really, prince, you cannot think how pleased I was\nto learn by public report (for people talk of nothing else, and with good\nreason) of your chivalrous attachment to my dear niece; for, without\nknowing it, you will extricate me from a difficult position.\"\n\nDjalma made no answer, but he looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with a\nsurprised and almost sorrowful air, as if to ask what her aunt meant to\ninsinuate.\n\nThe latter, not perceiving this mute interrogation, resumed as follows:\n\"I will express myself more clearly, prince. You can understand that,\nbeing the nearest relative of this dear, obstinate girl, I am more or\nless responsible for her conduct in the eyes of the world; and you,\nprince, seem just to have arrived on purpose, from the end of the earth,\nto take charge of a destiny which had caused me considerable\napprehension. It is charming, it is excellent; and I know not which most\nto admire, your courage or your good fortune.\" The princess threw a\nglance of diabolical malice at Adrienne, and awaited her answer with an\nair of defiance.\n\n\"Listen to our good aunt, my dear cousin,\" said the young lady, smiling\ncalmly. \"Since our affectionate kinswoman sees you and me united and\nhappy, her heart is swelling with such a flood of joy, that it must run\nover, and the effects will be delightful. Only have a little patience,\nand you will behold them in their full beauty. I do not know,\" added\nAdrienne, in the most natural tone, \"why, in thinking of these\noutpourings of our dear aunt's affection, I should remember what you told\nme, cousin, of a certain viper in your country which sometimes, in a\npowerless bite, breaks its fangs, and, absorbing its own venom, becomes\nthe victim of the poison it distills. Come, my dear aunt, you that had so\ngood and noble a heart, I am sure you must feel interested in the fate of\nthose poor vipers.\"\n\nThe princess darted an implacable look at her niece, and replied, in an\nagitated voice, \"I do not see the object of this selection of natural\nhistory. Do you, prince?\"\n\nDjalma made no answer; leaning with his arm on the mantelpiece, he threw\ndark and piercing glances upon the princess. His involuntary hatred of\nthis woman filled his heart.\n\n\"Ah, my dear aunt!\" resumed Adrienne, in a tone of self-reproach; \"have I\npresumed too much on the goodness of your heart? Have you not even\nsympathy for vipers? For whom, then, have you any? After all, I can very\nwell understand it,\" added Adrienne, as if to herself; \"vipers are so\nthin. But, to lay aside these follies,\" she continued, gayly, as she saw\nthe ill-repressed rage of the pious woman, \"tell us at once, my dear\naunt, all the tender things which the sight of our happiness inspires.\"\n\n\"I hope to do so, my amiable niece. First, I must congratulate this dear\nprince, on having come so far to take charge, in all confidence, and with\nhis eyes shut, of you, my poor child, whom we were obliged to confine as\nmad, in order to give a decent color to your excesses. You remember the\nhandsome lad, that we found in your apartment. You cannot be so\nfaithless, as already to have forgotten his name? He was a fine, youth,\nand a poet--one Agricola Baudoin--and was discovered in a secret place,\nattached to your bed-chamber. All Paris was amused with the scandal--for\nyou are not about to marry an unknown person, dear prince; her name has\nbeen in every mouth.\"\n\nAt these unexpected and dreadful words, Adrienne, Djalma, and Mother\nBunch, though under the influence of different kinds of resentment,\nremained for a moment mute with surprise; and the princess, judging it no\nlonger necessary to repress her infernal joy and triumphant hatred,\nexclaimed, as she rose from her seat, with flushed cheek, and flashing\neyes, \"Yes, I defy you to contradict me. Were we not forced to confine\nyou, on the plea of madness? And did we not find a workman (your lover)\nconcealed in your bedroom?\"\n\nOn this horrible accusation, Djalma's golden complexion, transparent as\namber, became suddenly the color of lead; his eyes, fixed and staring\nshowed the white round the pupil--his upper lip, red as blood, was curled\nin a kind of wild convulsion, which exposed to view the firmly-set\nteeth--and his whole countenance became so frightfully threatening and\nferocious, that Mother Bunch shuddered with terror. Carried away by the\nardor of his blood, the young Oriental felt a sort of dizzy,\nunreflecting, involuntary rage--a fiery commotion, like that which makes\nthe blood leap to the brave man's eyes and brain, when he feels a blow\nupon his face. If, during that moment, rapid as the passage of the\nlightning through the cloud, action could have taken the place of\nthought, the princess and Adrienne, Mother Bunch and himself, would all\nhave been annihilated by an explosion as sudden and fatal as that of the\nbursting of a mine. He would have killed the princess, because she\naccused Adrienne of infamous deception he would have killed Adrienne,\nbecause she could even be suspected of such infamy--and Mother Bunch, for\nbeing a witness of the accusation--and himself, in order not to survive\nsuch horrid treachery. But, oh wonder! his furious and bloodshot gaze met\nthe calm look of Adrienne--a look so full of dignity and serene\nconfidence--and the expression of ferocious rage passed away like a flash\nof lightning.\n\nMuch more: to the great surprise of the princess and the young workgirl,\nas the glances which Djalma cast upon Adrienne went (as it were) deeper\ninto that pure soul, not only did the Indian grow calm, but, by a kind of\ntransfiguration, his countenance seemed to borrow her serene expression,\nand reflect, as in a mirror, the noble serenity impressed on the young\nlady's features. Let us explain physically this moral revolution, as\nconsoling to the terrified workgirl, as provoking to the princess. Hardly\nhad the princess distilled the atrocious calumny from her venomous lips,\nthan Djalma, then standing before the fireplace, had, in the first\nparoxysm of his fury, advanced a step towards her; but, wishing as it\nwere to moderate his rage, he held by the marble chimney-piece, which he\ngrasped with iron strength. A convulsive trembling shook his whole body,\nand his features, altered and contracted, became almost frightful.\nAdrienne, on her part, when she heard the accusation, yielding to a first\nimpulse of just indignation, even as Djalma had yielded to one of blind\nfury, rose abruptly, with offended pride flashing from her eyes; but,\nalmost immediately appeased by the consciousness of her own purity, her\ncharming face resumed its expression of adorable serenity. It was then\nthat her eyes met Djalma's. For a second, the young lady was even more\nafflicted than terrified at the threatening and formidable expression of\nthe young Indian's countenance. \"Can stupid indignity exasperate him to\nthis degree?\" said Adrienne to herself. \"Does he suspect me; then?\"\n\nBut to this reflection, as rapid as it was painful, succeeded the most\nlively joy, when the eyes of Adrienne rested for a short time on those of\nthe Indian, and she saw his agitated countenance grow calm as if by\nmagic, and become radiant and beautiful as before. Thus was the\nabominable plot of the princess de Saint-Dizier utterly confounded by the\nsincere and confiding expression of Adrienne's face. That was not all. At\nthe moment, when, as a spectator of this mute and expressive scene (which\nproved so well the wondrous sympathy of those two beings, who, without\nspeaking a word, had understood and satisfied each other), the princess\nwas choking with rage and vexation--Adrienne, with a charming smile and\ngesture, extended her fair hand to Djalma, who, kneeling, imprinted on it\na kiss of fire, which sent a light blush to the forehead of the young\nlady.\n\nThen the Hindoo, placing himself on the ermine carpet at the feet of\nMdlle. de Cardoville, in an attitude full of grace: and respect, rested\nhis chin on the palm of one of his hands, and gazed on her silently, in a\nsort of mute adoration--while Adrienne, bending over him with a happy\nsmile \"looked at the babies in his eyes,\" as the song says, with as much\namorous complacency, as if the hateful princess had not been present. But\nsoon, as if something were wanting to complete her happiness, Adrienne\nbeckoned to Mother Bunch, and made her sit down by her side. Then, with\nher hand clasped in that of this excellent friend, Mdlle. de Cardoville\nsmiled on Djalma, stretched adoringly at her feet, and cast on the\ndismayed princess a look of such calm and firm serenity, so nobly\nexpressive of the invincible quiet of her happiness, and her lofty\ndisdain of all calumnious attacks, that the Princess de Saint-Dizier,\nconfused and stupefied, murmured some hardly intelligible words, in a\nvoice trembling with passion, and, completely losing her presence of\nmind, rushed towards the door. But, at this moment, the hunchback, who\nfeared some ambush, some perfidious plot in the background, resolved,\nafter exchanging a glance with Adrienne, to accompany the princess to her\ncarriage.\n\nThe angry disappointment of the Princess de Saint-Dizier, when she saw\nherself thus followed and watched, appeared so comical to Mdlle. de\nCardoville that she could not help laughing aloud; and it was to the\nsound of contemptuous hilarity that the hypocritical princess, with rage\nand despair in her heart, quitted the house to which she had hoped to\nbring trouble end misery. Adrienne and Djalma were left alone. Before\nrelating the scene which took place between them, a few retrospective\nwords are indispensable. It will easily be imagined, that since Mdlle. de\nCardoville and the Oriental had been brought into such close contact,\nafter so many disappointments, their days had passed away like a dream of\nhappiness. Adrienne had especially taken pains to bring to light, one by\none, all the generous qualities of Djalma, of which she had read so much\nin her books of travels. The young lady had imposed on herself this\ntender and patient study of Djalma's character, not only to justify to\nher own mind the intensity of her love, but because this period of trial,\nto which she had assigned a term, enabled her to temper and divert the\nviolence of Djalma's passion--a task the more meritorious, as she herself\nwas of the same ardent temperament. For, in those two lovers, the finest\nqualities of sense and soul seemed exactly to balance each other, and\nheaven had bestowed on them the rarest beauty of form, and the most\nadorable excellence of heart, as if to legitimatize the irresistible\nattraction which drew and bound them together. What, then, was to be the\nterm of this painful trial, which Adrienne had imposed on Djalma and on\nherself? This is what Mdlle. de Cardoville intended to tell the prince,\nin the interview she had with him, after the abrupt departure of the\nPrincess de Saint-Dizier.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LX.\n\nTHE ORDEAL.\n\nAdrienne de Cardoville and Djalma had remained alone. Such was the noble\nconfidence which had succeeded in the Hindoo's mind to his first movement\nof unreflecting fury, caused by the infamous calumny, that, once alone\nwith Adrienne, he did not even allude to that shameful accusation.\n\nOn her side (touching and admirable sympathy of those two hearts!), the\nyoung lady was too proud, conscious of the purity of her love, to descend\nto any justification of herself.\n\nShe would have considered it an insult both to herself and him.\nTherefore, the lovers began their interview, as if the princess had never\nmade any such remark. The same contempt was extended to the papers, which\nthe princess had brought with her to prove the imminent ruin to which\nAdrienne was exposed. The young lady had laid them down, without reading\nthem, on a stand within her reach. She made a graceful sign to Djalma to\nseat himself by her side, and accordingly he quitted, not without regret,\nthe place he had occupied at her feet.\n\n\"My love,\" said Adrienne, in a grave and tender voice, \"you have often\nimpatiently asked me, when would come the term of the trial we have laid\nupon ourselves. That moment is at hand.\"\n\nDjalma started, and could not restrain a cry of surprise and joy; but\nthis almost trembling exclamation was so soft and sweet, that it seemed\nrather the expression of ineffable gratitude, than of exulting passion.\n\nAdrienne continued: \"Separated--surrounded by treachery and\nfraud--mutually deceived as to each other's sentiments--we yet loved on,\nand in that followed an irresistible attraction, stronger than every\nopposing influence. But since then, in these days of happy retirement\nfrom the world, we have learned to value and esteem each other more. Left\nto ourselves in perfect freedom, we have had the courage to resist every\ntemptation, that hereafter we might be happy without remorse. During\nthese days, in which our hearts had been laid open to each other, we have\nread them thoroughly. Yes, Djalma! I believe in you, and you in me--I\nfind in you all that you find in me--every possible human security for\nour future happiness. But this love must yet be consecrated; and in the\neyes of the world, in which we are called upon to live, marriage is the\nonly consecration, and marriage enchains one's whole life.\"\n\nDjalma looked at the young lady with surprise.\n\n\"Yes, one's whole life! and yet who can answer for the sentiments of a\nwhole life?\" resumed Adrienne. \"A God, that could see into the future,\ncould alone bind irrevocably certain hearts for their own happiness; but,\nalas! to human eyes the future is impenetrable. Therefore, to accept\nindissoluble ties, for any longer than one can answer for a present\nsentiment, is to commit an act of selfish and impious folly.\"\n\nDjalma made no reply, but, with an almost respectful gesture, he urged\nthe speaker to continue.\n\n\"And then,\" proceeded she, with a mixture of tenderness and pride, \"from\nrespect for your dignity and mine, I would never promise to keep a law\nmade by man against woman, with contemptuous and brutal egotism--a law,\nwhich denies to woman soul, mind, and heart--a law, which none can\naccept, without being either a slave or perjured--a law, which takes from\nthe girl her name, reduces the wife to a state of degrading inferiority,\ndenies to the mother all rights over her own children, and enslaves one\nhuman creature to the will of another, who is in all respects her equal\nin the sight of God!--You know, my love,\" added the young lady, with\npassionate enthusiasm, \"how much I honor you, whose father was called the\nFather of the Generous. I do not then fear, noble and valiant heart, to\nsee you use against me these tyrannical powers; but, throughout my life,\nI never uttered a falsehood, and our love is too sacred and celestial to\nbe purchased by a double perjury. No, never will I swear to observe a\nlaw, that my dignity, and my reason refuse to sanction. If, to-morrow,\nthe freedom of divorce were established, and the rights of women\nrecognized, I should be willing to observe usages, which would then be in\naccordance with my conscience, and with what is just, possible, and\nhumane.\" Then, after a pause, Adrienne continued, with such deep and\nsweet emotion, that a tear of tenderness veiled her beauteous eyes: \"Oh!\nif you knew, my love, what your love is to me: if you knew how dear and\nsacred I hold your happiness--you would excuse, you would understand,\nthese generous superstitions of a loving and honest heart, which could\nonly see a fatal omen in forms degraded by falsehood and perjury. What I\nwish, is, to attach you by love, to bind you in chains of happiness--and\nto leave you free, that I may owe your constancy only to your affection.\"\n\nDjalma had listened to the young girl with passionate attention. Proud\nand generous himself, he admired this proud and generous character. After\na moment's meditative silence, he answered, in his sweet, sonorous voice,\nin an almost solemn tone: \"Like you, I hold in detestation, falsehood and\nperjury. Like you, I think that man degrades himself, by accepting the\nright of being a cowardly tyrant, even though resolved never to use the\npower. Like you, I could not bear the thought, that I owed all I most\nvalued, not to your love alone, but to the eternal constraint of an\nindissoluble bond. Like you, I believe there is no dignity but in\nfreedom. But you have said, that, for this great and holy love, you\ndemand a religious consecration; and if you reject vows, that you cannot\nmake without folly and perjury, are there then others, which your reason\nand your heart approve?--Who will pronounce the required blessing? To\nwhom must these vows be spoken?\"\n\n\"In a few days, my love, I believe I shall be able to tell you all. Every\nevening, after your departure, I have no other thought. I wish to find\nthe means of uniting yourself and me--in the eyes of God, not of the\nlaw--without offending the habits and prejudices of a world, in which it\nmay suit us hereafter to live. Yes, my friend! when you know whose are\nthe noble hands, that are to join ours together, who is to bless and\nglorify God in our union--a sacred union, that will leave us worthy and\nfree--you will say, I am sure, that never purer hands could have been\nlaid upon us. Forgive me, friend! all this is in earnest--yes, earnest as\nour love, earnest as our happiness. If my words seem to you strange, my\nthoughts unreasonable, tell it me, love! We will seek and find some\nbetter means, to reconcile that we owe to heaven, with what we owe to the\nworld and to ourselves. It is said, that lovers are beside themselves,\"\nadded the young lady, with a smile, \"but I think that no creatures are\nmore reasonable.\"\n\n\"When I hear you speak thus of our happiness,\" said Djalma, deeply moved,\n\"with so much calm and earnest tenderness, I think I see a mother\noccupied with the future prospects of her darling child--trying to\nsurround him with all that can make him strong, valiant, and\ngenerous--trying to remove far from him all that is ignoble and unworthy.\nYou ask me to tell you if your thoughts seem strange to me, Adrienne. You\nforget, that what makes my faith in our love, is my feeling exactly as\nyou do. What offends you, offends me also; what disgusts you, disgusts\nme. Just now, when you cited to me the laws of this country, which\nrespect in a woman not even a mother's right--I thought with pride of our\nbarbarous countries, where woman, though a slave, is made free when she\nbecomes a mother. No, no; such laws are not made either for you or me. Is\nit not to prove your sacred respect for our love, to wish to raise it\nabove the shameful servitude that would degrade it? You see, Adrienne, I\nhave often heard said by the priests of my country, that there were\nbeings inferior to the gods, but superior to every other creature. I did\nnot believe those priests; but now I do.\" These last words were uttered,\nnot in the tone of flattery, but with an accent of sincere conviction,\nand with that sort of passionate veneration and almost timid fervor,\nwhich mark the believer talking of his faith; but what is impossible to\ndescribe, is the ineffable harmony of these almost religious words, with\nthe mild, deep tone of the young Oriental's voice--as well as the ardent\nexpression of amorous melancholy, which gave an irresistible charm to his\nenchanting features.\n\nAdrienne had listened to Djalma with an indescribable mixture of joy,\ngratitude, and pride. Laying her hand on her bosom, as if to keep down\nits violent pulsations, she resumed, as she looked at the prince with\ndelight: \"Behold him, ever the same!--just, good, great!--Oh, my heart!\nmy heart! how proudly it beats. Blessed be God, who created me for this\nadored lover! He must mean to astonish the world, by the prodigies of\ntenderness and charity, that such a love may produce. They do not yet\nknow the sovereign might of free, happy, ardent love. Yes, Djalma! on the\nday when our hands are joined together, what hymns of gratitude will\nascend to heaven!--Ah! they do not know the immense, the insatiable\nlonging for joy aria delight, which possesses two hearts like ours; they\ndo not know what rays of happiness stream from the celestial halo of such\na flame!--Oh, yes! I feel it. Many tears will be dried, many cold hearts\nwarmed, at the divine fire of our love. And it will be by the\nbenedictions of those we serve, that they will learn the intoxication of\nour rapture!\"\n\nTo the dazzled eyes of Djalma, Adrienne appeared more and more an ideal\nbeing--partaking of the Divinity by her goodness, of the animal nature by\npassion--for, yielding to the intensity of excitement, Adrienne fixed\nupon Djalma looks that sparkled with love.\n\n'Then, almost beside himself, the Asiatic fell prostrate at the feet of\nthe maiden, and exclaimed, in a supplicating voice: \"Mercy! my courage\nfails me. Have pity on me! do not talk thus. Oh, that day! what years of\nmy life would I not give to hasten it!\"\n\n\"Silence! no blasphemy. Do not your years belong to me?\"\n\n\"Adrienne! you love me!\"\n\nThe young lady did not answer; but her half-veiled, burning glance, dealt\nthe last blow to reason. Seizing her hands in his own, he exclaimed, with\na tremulous voice: \"That day, in which we shall mount to heaven, in which\nwe shall be gods in happiness--why postpone it any longer?\"\n\n\"Because our love must be consecrated by the benediction of heaven.\"\n\n\"Are we not free?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, my love; we are free. Let us be worthy of our liberty!\"\n\n\"Adrienne! mercy!\"\n\n\"I ask you also to have mercy--to have mercy on the sacredness of our\nlove. Do not profane it in its very flower. Believe my heart! believe my\npresentiments! to profane it would be to kill. Courage, my adored lover!\na few days longer--and then happiness--without regret, and without\nremorse!\"\n\n\"And, until then, hell! tortures without a name! You do not, cannot know\nwhat I suffer when I leave your presence. Your image follows me, your\nbreath burns me up; I cannot sleep, but call on you every night with\nsighs and tears--just as I called on, you, when I thought you did not\nlove me--and yet I know you love me, I know you are mine. But to see you\nevery day more beautiful, more adored--and every day to quit you more\nimpassioned--oh! you cannot tell--\"\n\nDjalma was unable to proceed. What he said of his devouring tortures,\nAdrienne had felt, perhaps even more intensely. Electrified by the\npassionate words of Djalma, so beautiful in his excitement, her courage\nfailed, and she perceived that an irresistible languor was creeping over\nher. By a last chaste effort of the will, she rose abruptly, and\nhastening to the door, which communicated with Mother Bunch's chamber,\nshe exclaimed: \"My sister! help me!\"\n\nIn another moment, Mdlle. de Cardoville, her face bathed in tears,\nclasped the young sempstress in her arms; while Djalma knelt respectfully\non the threshold he did not dare to pass.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXI.\n\nAMBITION.\n\nA few days after the interview of Djalma and Adrienne, just described,\nRodin was alone in his bed-chamber, in the house in the Rue de Vaugirard,\nwalking up and down the room where he had so valiantly undergone the\nmoxas of Dr. Baleinier. With his hands thrust into the hind-pockets of\nhis greatcoat, and his head bowed upon his breast, the Jesuit seemed to\nbe reflecting profoundly, and his varying walk, now slow, now quick,\nbetrayed the agitation of his mind.\n\n\"On the side of Rome,\" said Rodin to himself, \"I am tranquil. All is\ngoing well. The abdication is as good as settled, and if I can pay them\nthe price agreed, the Prince Cardinal can secure me a majority of nine\nvoices in the conclave. Our General is with me; the doubts of Cardinal\nMalipieri are at an end, or have found no echo. Yet I am not quite easy,\nwith regard to the reported correspondence between Father d'Aigrigny and\nMalipieri. I have not been able to intercept any of it. No matter; that\nsoldier's business is settled. A little patience and he will be wiped\nout.\"\n\nHere the pale lips were contracted by one of those frightful smiles,\nwhich gave to Rodin's countenance so diabolical an expression.\n\nAfter a pause, he resumed: \"The funeral of the freethinker, the\nphilanthropist, the workman's friend, took place yesterday at St. Herem.\nFrancis Hardy went off in a fit of ecstatic delirium. I had his donation,\nit is true; but this is more certain. Everything may be disputed in this\nworld; the dead dispute nothing.\"\n\nRodin remained in thought for some moments; then he added, in a grave\ntone: \"There remain this red-haired wench and her mulatto. This is the\ntwenty-seventh of May; the first of June approaches, and these turtle\ndoves still seem invulnerable. The princess thought she had hit upon a\ngood plan, and I should have thought so too. It was a good idea to\nmention the discovery of Agricola Baudoin in the madcap's room, for it\nmade the Indian tiger roar with savage jealousy. Yes: but then the dove\nbegan to coo, and hold out her pretty beak, and the foolish tiger\nsheathed his claws, and rolled on the ground before her. It's a pity, for\nthere was some sense in the scheme.\"\n\nThe walk of Rodin became more and more agitated. \"Nothing is more\nextraordinary,\" continued he, \"than the generative succession of ideas.\nIn comparing this red-haired jade to a dove (colombe), I could not help\nthinking of that infamous old woman, Sainte-Colombe, whom that big rascal\nJacques Dumoulin pays his court to, and whom the Abbe Corbinet will\nfinish, I hope, by turning to good account. I have often remarked, that,\nas a poet may find an excellent rhyme by mere chance, so the germ of the\nbest ideas is sometimes found in a word, or in some absurd resemblance\nlike the present. That abominable hag, Sainte-Colombo, and the pretty\nAdrienne de Cardoville, go as well together, as a ring would suit a cat,\nor a necklace a fish. Well, there is nothing in it.\"\n\nHardly had Rodin pronounced these words, than he started suddenly, and\nhis face shone with a fatal joy. Then it assumed an expression of\nmeditative astonishment, as happens when chance reveals some unexpected\ndiscovery to the surprised and charmed inquirer after knowledge.\n\nSoon, with raised head and sparkling eye, his hollow cheeks swelling with\njoy and pride, Rodin folded his arms in triumph on his breast, and\nexclaimed: \"Oh! how admirable and marvellous are these mysterious\nevolutions of the mind; how incomprehensible is the chain of human\nthought, which, starting from an absurd jingle of words, arrives at a\nsplendid or luminous idea! Is it weakness? or is it strength?\nStrange--very strange! I compare the red-haired girl to a dove--a\ncolombe. That makes me think of the hag, who traded in the bodies and\nsouls of so many creatures. Vulgar proverbs occur to me, about a ring and\na cat, a fish and a necklace--and suddenly, at the word NECKLACE, a new\nlight dawns upon me. Yes: that one word NECKLACE shall be to me a golden\nkey, to open the portals of my brain, so long foolishly closed.\"\n\nAnd, after again walking hastily up and down, Rodin continued: \"Yes, it\nis worth attempting. The more I reflect upon it, the more feasible it\nappears. Only how to get at that wretch, Saint-Colombe? Well, there is\nJacques Dumoulin, and the other--where to find her? That is the\nstumbling-block. I must not shout before I am out of the wood.\"\n\nRodin began again to walk, biting his nails with an air of deep thought.\nFor some moments, such was the tension of his mind, large drops of sweat\nstood on his yellow brow. He walked up and down, stopped, stamped with\nhis foot, now raised his eyes as if in search of an inspiration, and now\nscratched his head violently with his left hand, whilst he continued to\ngnaw the nails of the right. Finally, from time to time, he uttered\nexclamations of rage, despondency, or hope, as by turns they took\npossession of his mind. If the cause of this monster's agitation had not\nbeen horrible, it would have been a curious and interesting spectacle to\nwatch the labors of that powerful brain--to follow, as it were, on that\nshifting countenance, the progress and development of the project, on\nwhich he was now concentrating all the resources of his strong intellect.\nAt length, the work appeared to be near completion, for Rodin resumed:\n\"Yes, yes! it is bold, hazardous--but then it is prompt, and the\nconsequences may be incalculable. Who can foresee the effects of the\nexplosion of a mine?\"\n\nThen, yielding to a movement of enthusiasm, which was hardly natural to\nhim, the Jesuit exclaimed, with rapture: \"Oh, the passions! the passions!\nwhat a magical instrument do they form, if you do but touch the keys with\na light, skillful, and vigorous hand! How beautiful too is the power of\nthought! Talk of the acorn that becomes an oak, the seed that grows up to\nthe corn--the seed takes months, the acorn centuries, to unfold its\nsplendors--but here is a little word in eight letters, necklace and this\nword, falling into my brain but a few minutes ago, has grown and grown\ntill it has become larger than any oak. Yes, that word is the germ of an\nidea, that, like the oak, lifts itself up towards heaven, for the greater\nglory of the Lord--such as they call Him, and such as I would assert Him\nto be, should I attain--and I shall attain--for these miserable\nRenneponts will pass away like a shadow. And what matters it, after all,\nto the moral order I am reserved to guide, whether these people live or\ndie? What do such lives weigh in the balance of the great destinies of\nthe world? while this inheritance which I shall boldly fling into the\nscale, will lift me to a sphere, from which one commands many kings, many\nnations--let them say and make what noise they will. The idiots--the\nstupid idiots! or rather, the kind, blessed, adorable idiots! They think\nthey have crushed us, when they say to us men of the church: 'You take\nthe spiritual, but we will keep the temporal!'--Oh, their conscience or\ntheir modesty inspires them well, when it bids them not meddle with\nspiritual things! They abandon the spiritual! they despise it, they will\nhave nothing to do with it--oh, the venerable asses! they do not see,\nthat, even as they go straight to the mill, it is by the spiritual that\nwe go straight to the temporal. As if the mind did not govern the body!\nThey leave us the spiritual--that is, command of the conscience, soul,\nheart, and judgment--the spiritual--that is, the distribution of heaven's\nrewards, and punishments, and pardons--without check, without control, in\nthe secrecy of the confessional--and that dolt, the temporal, has nothing\nbut brute matter for his portion, and yet rubs his paunch for joy. Only,\nfrom time to time, he perceives, too late, that, if he has the body, we\nhave the soul, and that the soul governs the body, and so the body ends\nby coming with us also--to the great surprise of Master Temporal, who\nstands staring with his hands on his paunch, and says: 'Dear me! is it\npossible?'\"\n\nThen, with a laugh of savage contempt, Rodin began to walk with great\nstrides, and thus continued: \"Oh! let me reach it--let me but reach the\nplace of SIXTUS V.--and the world shall see (one day, when it awakes)\nwhat it is to have the spiritual power in hands like mine--in the hands\nof a priest, who, for fifty years, has lived hardly, frugally, chastely,\nand who, were he pope, would continue to live hardly, frugally,\nchastely!\"\n\nRodin became terrible, as he spoke thus. All the sanguinary,\nsacrilegious, execrable ambition of the worst popes seemed written in\nfiery characters on the brow of this son of Ignatius. A morbid desire of\nrule seemed to stir up the Jesuit's impure blood; he was bathed in a\nburning sweat, and a kind of nauseous vapor spread itself round about\nhim. Suddenly, the noise of a travelling-carriage, which entered the\ncourtyard of the house, attracted his attention. Regretting his momentary\nexcitement, he drew from his pocket his dirty white and red cotton\nhandkerchief, and dipping it in a glass of water, he applied it to his\ncheeks and temples, while he approached the window, to look through the\nhalf-open blinds at the traveller who had just arrived. The projection of\na portico, over the door at which the carriage had stopped, intercepted\nRodin's view.\n\n\"No matter,\" said he, recovering his coolness: \"I shall know presently\nwho is there. I must write at once to Jacques Dumoulin, to come hither\nimmediately. He served me well, with regard to that little slut in the\nRue Clovis, who made my hair stand on end with her infernal Beranger.\nThis time, Dumoulin may serve me again. I have him in my clutches, and he\nwill obey me.\"\n\nRodin sat down to his desk and wrote. A few seconds later, some one\nknocked at the door, which was double-locked, quite contrary to the rules\nof the order. But, sure of his own influence and importance, Rodin, who\nhad obtained from the general permission to be rid for a time of the\ninconvenient company of a socius, often took upon himself to break\nthrough a number of the rules. A servant entered and delivered a letter\nto Rodin. Before opening it the latter said to the man: \"What carriage is\nthat which just arrived?\"\n\n\"It comes from Rome, father,\" answered the servant, bowing.\n\n\"From Rome!\" said Rodin, hastily; and in spite of himself, a vague\nuneasiness was expressed in his countenance. But, still holding the\nletter in his hands, he added: \"Who comes in the carriage.\"\n\n\"A reverend father of our blessed Company.\"\n\nNotwithstanding his ardent curiosity, for he knew that a reverend father,\ntravelling post, is always charged with some important mission, Rodin\nasked no more questions on the subject, but said, as he pointed to the\npaper in his hand: \"Whence comes this letter?\"\n\n\"From our house at St. Herem, father.\"\n\nRodin looked more attentively at the writing, and recognized the hand of\nFather d'Aigrigny, who had been commissioned to attend M. Hardy in his\nlast moments. The letter ran as follows:\n\n\"I send a despatch to inform your reverence of a fact which is, perhaps,\nmore singular than important. After the funeral of M. Francis Hardy, the\ncoffin, which contained his remains, had been provisionally deposited in\na vault beneath our chapel, until it could be removed to the cemetery of\nthe neighboring town. This morning, when our people went down into the\nvault, to make the necessary preparations for the removal of the\nbody--the coffin had disappeared.\n\n\"That is strange indeed,\" said Rodin with a start. Then, he continued to\nread:\n\n\"All search has hitherto been vain, to discover the authors of the\nsacrilegious deed. The chapel being, as you know, at a distance from the\nhouse, they were able to effect an entry without disturbing us. We have\nfound traces of a four-wheeled carriage on the damp ground in the\nneighborhood; but, at some little distance from the chapel, these marks\nare lost in the sand, and it has been impossible to follow them any\nfarther.\"\n\n\"Who can have carried away this body?\" said Rodin, with a thoughtful air.\n\"Who could have any interest in doing so?\"\n\nHe continued to read:\n\n\"Luckily, the certificate of death is quite correct. I sent for a doctor\nfrom Etampes, to prove the disease, and no question can be raised on that\npoint. The donation is therefore good and valid in every respect, but I\nthink it best to inform your reverence of what has happened, that you may\ntake measures accordingly, etc., etc.\"\n\nAfter a moment's reflection, Rodin said to himself: \"D'Aigrigny is right\nin his remark; it is more singular than important. Still, it makes one\nthink. We must have an eye to this affair.\"\n\nTurning towards the servant, who had brought him the letter, Rodin gave\nhim the note he had just written to Ninny Moulin, and said to him: \"Let\nthis letter be taken instantly to its address, and let the bearer wait\nfor an answer.\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\nAt the moment the servant left the room, a reverend father entered, and\nsaid to Rodin, \"Father Caboccini of Rome has just arrived, with a mission\nfrom our general to your reverence.\"\n\nAt these words, Rodin's blood ran cold, but he maintained his immovable\ncalmness, and said simply: \"Where is Father Caboccini?\"\n\n\"In the next room, father.\"\n\n\"Beg him to walk in, and leave us,\" said the other.\n\nA second after, Father Caboccini of Rome entered the room and was left\nalone with Rodin.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXII.\n\nTO A SOCIUS, A SOCIUS AND A HALF.\n\nThe Reverend Father Caboccini, the Roman Jesuit who now came to visit\nRodin, was a short man of about thirty years of age, plump, in good\ncondition, and with an abdomen that swelled out his black cassock. The\ngood little father was blind with one eye, but his remaining organ of\nvision sparkled with vivacity. His rosy countenance was gay, smiling,\njoyous, splendidly crowned with thick chestnut hair, which curled like a\nwax doll's. His address was cordial to familiarity, and his expansive and\npetulant manners harmonized well with his general appearance. In a\nsecond, Rodin had taken his measure of the Italian emissary; and as he\nknew the practice of his Company, and the ways of Rome, he felt by no\nmeans comfortable at sight of this jolly little father, with such affable\nmanners. He would have less feared some tall, bony priest, with austere\nand sepulchral countenance, for he knew that the Company loves to deceive\nby the outward appearance of its agents; and if Rodin guessed rightly,\nthe cordial address of this personage would rather tend to show that he\nwas charged with some fatal mission.\n\nSuspicious, attentive, with eye and mind on the watch, like an old wolf,\nexpecting an attack, Rodin advanced as usual, slowly and tortuously\ntowards the little man, so as to have time to examine him thoroughly, and\npenetrate beneath his jovial outside. But the Roman left him no space for\nthat purpose. In his impetuous affection he threw himself right on the\nneck of Rodin, pressed him in his arms with an effusion of tenderness,\nand kissed him over and over again upon both cheeks, so loudly and\nplentifully that the echo resounded through the apartment. In his life\nRodin had never been so treated. More and more uneasy at the treachery\nwhich must needs lurk under such warm embraces, and irritated by his own\nevil presentiments, the French Jesuit did, all he could to extricate\nhimself from the Roman's exaggerated tokens of tenderness. But the latter\nkept his hold; his arms, though short, were vigorous, and Rodin was\nkissed over and over again, till the little one-eyed man was quite out of\nbreath. It is hardly necessary to state that these embraces were\naccompanied by the most friendly, affectionate, and fraternal\nexclamations--all in tolerably good French, but with a strong Italian\naccent, which we muss beg the reader to supply for himself, after we have\ngiven a single specimen. It will perhaps be remembered that, fully aware\nof the danger he might possibly incur by his ambitious machinations, and\nknowing from history that the use of poison had often been considered at\nRome as a state necessity, Rodin, on being suddenly attacked with the\ncholera, had exclaimed, with a furious glance at Cardinal Malipieri, \"I\nam poisoned!\"\n\nThe same apprehensions occurred involuntarily to the Jesuit's mind as he\ntried, by useless efforts, to escape from the embraces of the Italian\nemissary; and he could not help muttering to himself, \"This one-eyed\nfellow is a great deal too fond. I hope there is no poison under his\nJudas-kisses.\" At last, little Father Caboccini, being quite out of\nbreath, was obliged to relinquish his hold on Rodin's neck, who,\nreadjusting his dirty collar, and his old cravat and waistcoat, somewhat\nin disorder in consequence of this hurricane of caresses, said in a gruff\ntone, \"Your humble servant, father, but you need not kiss quite so hard.\"\n\nWithout making any answer to this reproach, the little father riveted his\none eye upon Rodin with an expression of enthusiasm, and exclaimed,\nwhilst he accompanied his words with petulant gestures, \"At lazt I zee te\nzuperb light of our zacred Company, and can zalute him from my\nheart--vonse more, vonse more.\"\n\nAs the little father had already recovered his breath, and was about to\nrush once again into Rodin's arms, the latter stepped back hastily, and\nheld out his arm to keep him off, saying, in allusion to the illogical\nmetaphor employed by Father Caboccini, \"First of all, father, one does\nnot embrace a light--and then I am not a light--I am a humble and obscure\nlaborer in the Lord's vineyard.\"\n\nThe Roman replied with enthusiasm (we shall henceforth translate his\ngibberish), \"You are right, father, we cannot embrace a light, but we can\nprostrate ourselves before it, and admire its dazzling brightness.\"\n\nSo saying, Caboccini was about to suit the action to the word, and to\nprostrate himself before Rodin, had not the latter prevented this mode of\nadulation by seizing the Roman by the arm and exclaiming, \"This is mere\nidolatry, father. Pass over my qualities, and tell me what is the object\nof your journey.\"\n\n\"The object, my dear father, fills me with joy and happiness. I have\nendeavored to show you my affection by my caresses, for my heart is\noverflowing. I have hardly been able to restrain myself during my journey\nhither, for my heart rushed to meet you. The object transports, delights,\nenchants me--\"\n\n\"But what enchants you?\" cried Rodin, exasperated by these Italian\nexaggerations. \"What is the object?\"\n\n\"This rescript of our very reverend and excellent General will inform\nyou, my clear father.\"\n\nCaboccini drew from his pocket-book a folded paper, with three seals,\nwhich he kissed respectfully, and delivered to Rodin, who himself kissed\nit in his turn, and opened it with visible anxiety. While he read it the\ncountenance of the Jesuit remained impassible, but the pulsation of the\narteries on his temples announced his internal agitation. Yet he put the\nletter coolly into his pocket, and looking at the Roman, said to him, \"Be\nit as our excellent General has commanded!\"\n\n\"Then, father,\" cried Caboccini, with a new effusion of tenderness and\nadmiration, \"I shall be the shadow of your light, and, in fact, your\nsecond self. I shall have the happiness of being always with you, day and\nnight, and of acting as your socius, since, after having allowed you to\nbe without one for some time, according to your wish, and for the\ninterest of our blessed Company, our excellent General now thinks fit to\nsend me from Rome, to fill that post about your person--an unexpected, an\nimmense favor, which fills me with gratitude to our General, and with\nlove to you, my dear, my excellent father!\"\n\n\"It is well played,\" thought Rodin; \"but I am not so soft, and 'tis only\namong the blind that your Cyclops are kings!\"\n\nThe evening of the day in which this scene took place between the Jesuit\nand his new socius, Ninny Moulin, after receiving in presence of\nCaboccini the instructions of Rodin, went straight to Madame de la\nSainte-Colombe's.\n\nThis woman had made her fortune, at the time of the allies taking Paris,\nby keeping one of those \"pretty milliner's shops,\" whose \"pink bonnets\"\nhave run into a proverb not extinct in these days when bonnets are not\nknown. Ninny Moulin had no better well to draw inspiration from when, as\nnow, he had to find out, as per Rodin's order, a girl of an age and\nappearance which, singularly enough, were closely resembling those of\nMdlle. de Cardoville.\n\nNo doubt of Ninny Moulin's success in this mission, for the next morning\nRodin, whose countenance wore a triumphant expression, put with his own\nhand a letter into the post.\n\nThis letter was addressed:\n\n\"To M. Agricola Baudoin,\n\"No. 2, Rue Brise-Miche,\n\"Paris.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXIII.\n\nFARINGHEA'S AFFECTION.\n\nIt will, perhaps, be remembered that Djalma, when he heard for the first\ntime that he was beloved by Adrienne, had, in the fulness of his joy,\nspoken thus to Faringhea, whose treachery he had just discovered, \"You\nleagued with my enemies, and I had done you no harm. You are wicked,\nbecause you are no doubt unhappy. I will strive to make you happy, so\nthat you may be good. Would you have gold?--you shall have it. Would you\nhave a friend?--though you are a slave, a king's son offers you his\nfriendship.\"\n\nFaringhea had refused the gold, and appeared to accept the friendship of\nthe son of Kadja-sing. Endowed with remarkable intelligence, and\nextraordinary power of dissimulation the half-breed had easily persuaded\nthe prince of the sincerity of his repentance, and obtained credit for\nhis gratitude and attachment from so confiding and generous a character.\nBesides, what motives could Djalma have to suspect the slave, now become\nhis friend? Certain of the love of Mdlle. de Cardoville, with whom he\npassed a portion of every day, her salutary influence would have guarded\nhim against any dangerous counsels or calumnies of the half-caste, a\nfaithful and secret instrument of Rodin, and attached by him to the\nCompany. But Faringhea, whose tact was amazing, did not act so lightly;\nhe never spoke to the prince of Mdlle. de Cardoville, and waited\nunobtrusively for the confidential communications into which Djalma was\nsometimes hurried by his excessive joy. A few days after the interview\nlast described between Adrienne and Djalma, and on the morrow of the day\nwhen Rodin, certain of the success of Ninny Moulin's mission to Sainte\nColombe, had himself put a letter in the post to the address of Agricola\nBaudoin, the half-caste, who for some time had appeared oppressed with a\nviolent grief, seemed to get so much worse, that the prince, struck with\nthe desponding air of the man, asked him kindly and repeatedly the cause\nof his sorrow. But Faringhea, while he gratefully thanked the prince for\nthe interest he took in him, maintained the most absolute silence and\nreserve on the subject of his grief.\n\nThese preliminaries will enable the reader to understand the following\nscene, which took place about noon in the house in the Rue de Clichy\noccupied by the Hindoo. Contrary to his habit, Djalma had not passed that\nmorning with Adrienne. He had been informed the evening before, by the\nyoung lady, that she must ask of him the sacrifice of this whole day, to\ntake the necessary measures to make their marriage sacred and acceptable\nin the eyes of the world, and yet free from the restrictions which she\nand Djalma disapproved. As for the means to be employed by Mdlle. de\nCardoville to attain this end, and the name of the pure and honorable\nperson who was to consecrate their union, these were secrets which, not\nbelonging exclusively to the young lady, could not yet be communicated to\nDjalma. To the Indian, so long accustomed to devote every instant to\nAdrienne, this day seemed interminable. By turns a prey to the most\nburning agitation, and to a kind of stupor, in which he plunged himself\nto escape from the thoughts that caused his tortures, Djalma lay\nstretched upon a divan, with his face buried in his hands, as if to shut\nout the view of a too enchanting vision. Suddenly, without knocking at\nthe door, as usual, Faringhea entered the prince's apartment.\n\nAt the noise the half-caste made in entering Djalma started, raised his\nhead, and looked round him with surprise; but, on seeing the pale\nagitated countenance of the slave, he rose hastily, and advancing towards\nhim, exclaimed, \"What is the matter, Faringhea!\"\n\nAfter a moment's silence, and as if struggling with a painful feeling of\nhesitation, Faringhea threw himself at the feet of Djalma, and murmured\nin a weak, despairing, almost supplicating voice: \"I am very miserable.\nPity me, my good lord!\"\n\nThe tone was so touching, the grief under which the half-breed suffered\nseemed to give to his features, generally fixed and hard as bronze, such\na heart-rending expression, that Djalma was deeply affected, and, bending\nto raise him from the ground, said to him, in a kindly voice: \"Speak to\nme! Confidence appeases the torments of the heart. Trust me, friend--for\nmy angel herself said to me, that happy love cannot bear to see tears\nabout him.\"\n\n\"But unhappy love, miserable love, betrayed love--weeps tears of blood,\"\nreplied Faringhea, with painful dejection.\n\n\"Of what love dost thou speak?\" asked Djalma, in surprise.\n\n\"I speak of my love,\" answered the half-caste, with a gloomy air.\n\n\"Of your love?\" said Djalma, more and more astonished; not that the half\ncaste, still young, and with a countenance of sombre beauty, appeared to\nhim incapable of inspiring or feeling the tender passion, but that, until\nnow, he had never imagined him capable of conceiving so deep a sorrow.\n\n\"My lord,\" resumed the half-caste, \"you told me, that misfortune had made\nme wicked, and that happiness would make me good. In those words, I saw a\npresentiment, and a noble love entered my heart, at the moment when\nhatred and treachery departed from it. I, the half-savage, found a woman,\nbeautiful and young, to respond to my passion. At least I thought so. But\nI had betrayed you, my lord, and there is no happiness for a traitor,\neven though he repent. In my turn, I have been shamefully betrayed.\"\n\nThen, seeing the surprise of the prince, the half-caste added, as if\noverwhelmed with confusion: \"Do not mock me, my lord! The most frightful\ntortures would not have wrung this confession from me; but you, the son\nof a king, deigned to call the poor slave your friend!\"\n\n\"And your friend thanks you for the confidence,\" answered Djalma. \"Far\nfrom mocking, he will console you. Mock you! do you think it possible?\"\n\n\"Betrayed love merits contempt and insult,\" said Faringhea, bitterly.\n\"Even cowards may point at one with scorn--for, in this country, the\nsight of the man deceived in what is dearest to his soul, the very life\nblood of his life, only makes people shrug their shoulders and laugh.\"\n\n\"But are you certain of this treachery?\" said Djalma, mildly. Then he\nadded, with visible hesitation, that proved the goodness of his heart:\n\"Listen to me, and forgive me for speaking of the past! It will only be\nanother proof, that I cherish no evil memories, and that I fully believe\nin your repentance and affection. Remember, that I also once thought,\nthat she, who is the angel of my life, did not love me--and yet it was\nfalse. Who tells you, that you are not, like me, deceived by false\nappearances?\"\n\n\"Alas, my lord! could I only believe so! But I dare not hope it. My brain\nwanders uncertain, I cannot come to any resolution, and therefore I have\nrecourse to you.\"\n\n\"But what causes your suspicions?\"\n\n\"Her coldness, which sometimes succeeds to apparent tenderness. The\nrefusals she gives me in the name of duty. Yes,\" added the half-caste,\nafter a moment's silence, \"she reasons about her love--a proof, that she\nhas never loved me, or that she loves me no more.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, she perhaps loves you all the more, that she takes into\nconsideration the interest and the dignity of her love.\"\n\n\"That is what they all say,\" replied the half-caste, with bitter irony,\nas he fixed a penetrating look on Djalma; \"thus speak all those who love\nweakly, coldly; but those who love valiantly, never show these insulting\nsuspicions. For them, a word from the man they adore is a command; they\ndo not haggle and bargain, for the cruel pleasure of exciting the passion\nof their lover to madness, and so ruling him more surely. No, what their\nlover asks of them, were it to cost life and honor, they would grant it\nwithout hesitation--because, with them, the will of the man they love is\nabove every other consideration, divine and human. But those crafty\nwomen, whose pride it is to tame and conquer man--who take delight in\nirritating his passion, and sometimes appear on the point of yielding to\nit--are demons, who rejoice in the tears and torments of the wretch, that\nloves them with the miserable weakness of a child. While we expire with\nlove at their feet, the perfidious creatures are calculating the effects\nof their refusals, and seeing how far they can go, without quite driving\ntheir victim to despair. Oh! how cold and cowardly are they, compared to\nthe valiant, true-hearted women, who say to the men of their choice: 'Let\nme be thine to-day-and to-morrow, come shame, despair, and death--it\nmatters little! Be happy! my life is not worth one tear of thine!\"\n\nDjalma's brow had darkened, as he listened. Having kept inviolable the\nsecret of the various incidents of his passion for Mdlle. de Cardoville,\nhe could not but see in these words a quite involuntary allusion to the\ndelays and refusals of Adrienne. And yet Djalma suffered a moment in his\npride, at the thought of considerations and duties, that a woman holds\ndearer than her love. But this bitter and painful thought was soon\neffaced from the oriental's mind, thanks to the beneficent influence of\nthe remembrance of Adrienne. His brow again cleared, and he answered the\nhalf-caste, who was watching him attentively with a sidelong glance: \"You\nare deluded by grief. If you have no other reason to doubt her you love,\nthan these refusals and vague suspicions, be satisfied! You are perhaps\nloved better than you can imagine.\"\n\n\"Alas! would it were so, my lord!\" replied the half-caste, dejectedly, as\nif he had been deeply touched by the words of Djalma. \"Yet I say to\nmyself: There is for this woman something stronger than her\nlove--delicacy, dignity, honor, what you will--but she does not love me\nenough to sacrifice for me this something!\"\n\n\"Friend, you are deceived,\" answered Djalma, mildly, though the words\naffected him with a painful impression. \"The greater the love of a woman,\nthe more it should be chaste and noble. It is love itself that awakens\nthis delicacy and these scruples. He rules, instead of being ruled.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" replied the half-caste, with bitter irony, \"Love so rules\nme, that this woman bids me love in her own fashion, and I have only to\nsubmit.\"\n\nPausing suddenly, Faringhea hid his face in his hands, and heaved a deep\ndrawn sigh. His features expressed a mixture of hate, rage, and despair,\nat once so terrible and so painful, that Djalma, more and more affected,\nexclaimed, as he seized the other's hand: \"Calm this fury, and listen to\nthe voice of friendship! It will disperse this evil influence. Speak to\nme!\"\n\n\"No, no! it is too dreadful!\"\n\n\"Speak, I bid thee.\"\n\n\"No! leave the wretch to his despair!\"\n\n\"Do you think me capable of that?\" said Djalma, with a mixture of\nmildness and dignity, which seemed to make an impression on the half\ncaste.\n\n\"Alas!\" replied he, hesitating; \"do you wish to hear more, my lord?\"\n\n\"I wish to hear all.\"\n\n\"Well, then! I have not told you all--for, at the moment of making this\nconfession, shame and the fear of ridicule kept me back. You asked me\nwhat reason I had to believe myself betrayed. I spoke to you of vague\nsuspicions, refusals, coldness. That is not all--this evening--\"\n\n\"Go on!\"\n\n\"This evening--she made an appointment--with a man that she prefers to\nme.\"\n\n\"Who told you so?\"\n\n\"A stranger who pitied my blindness.\"\n\n\"And suppose the man deceived you--or deceives himself?\"\n\n\"He has offered me proofs of what he advances.\"\n\n\"What proofs?\"\n\n\"He will enable me this evening to witness the interview. 'It may be,'\nsaid he, 'that this appointment may have no guilt in it, notwithstanding\nappearances to the contrary. Judge for yourself, have courage, and your\ncruel indecision will be at an end.'\"\n\n\"And what did you answer?\"\n\n\"Nothing, my lord. My head wandered as it does now and I came to you for\nadvice.\"\n\nThen, making a gesture of despair, he proceeded with a savage laugh:\n\"Advice? It is from the blade of my kand-jiar that I should ask counsel!\nIt would answer: 'Blood! blood!'\"\n\nFaringhea grasped convulsively the long dagger attached to his girdle.\nThere is a sort of contagion in certain forms of passion. At sight of\nFaringhea's countenance, agitated by jealous fury, Djalma shuddered--for\nhe remembered the fit of insane rage, with which he had been possessed,\nwhen the Princess de Saint-Dizier had defied Adrienne to contradict her,\nas to the discovery of Agricola Baudoin in her bed-chamber. But then,\nreassured by the lady's proud and noble bearing, Djalma had soon learned\nto despise the horrible calumny, which Adrienne had not even thought\nworthy of an answer. Still, two or three times, as the lightning will\nflash suddenly across the clearest sky, the remembrance of that shameful\naccusation had crossed the prince's mind, like a streak of fire, but had\nalmost instantly vanished, in the serenity and happiness of his ineffable\nconfidence in Adrienne's heart. These memories, however, whilst they\nsaddened the mind of Djalma, only made him more compassionate with regard\nto Faringhea, than he might have been without this strange coincidence\nbetween the position of the half-caste and his own. Knowing, by his own\nexperience, to what madness a blind fury may be carried, and wishing to\ntame the half-caste by affectionate kindness, Djalma said to him in a\ngrave and mild tone: \"I offered you my friendship. I will now act towards\nyou a friend.\"\n\nBut Faringhea, seemingly a prey to a dull and mute frenzy, stood with\nfixed and haggard eyes, as though he did not hear Djalma.\n\nThe latter laid his hand on his shoulder, and resumed: \"Faringhea, listen\nto me!\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said the half-caste, starting abruptly, as from a dream,\n\"forgive me--but--\"\n\n\"In the anguish occasioned by these cruel suspicions, it is not of your\nkandjiar that you must take counsel--but of your friend.\"\n\n\"My lord--\"\n\n\"To this interview, which will prove the innocence or the treachery of\nyour beloved, you will do well to go.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!\" said the half-caste, in a hollow voice, and with a bitter\nsmile: \"I shall be there.\"\n\n\"But you must not go alone.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, my lord?\" cried the half-caste. \"Who will accompany\nme?\"\n\n\"I will.\"\n\n\"You, my lord?\"\n\n\"Yes--perhaps, to save you from a crime--for I know how blind and unjust\nis the earliest outburst of rage.\"\n\n\"But that transport gives us revenge!\" cried the half-caste, with a cruel\nsmile.\n\n\"Faringhea, this day is all my own. I shall not leave you,\" said the\nprince, resolutely. \"Either you shall not go to this interview, or I will\naccompany you.\"\n\nThe half-caste appeared conquered by this generous perseverance. He fell\nat the feet of Djalma, pressed the prince's hand respectfully to his\nforehead and to his lips, and said: \"My lord, be generous to the end!\nforgive me!\"\n\n\"For what should I forgive you?\"\n\n\"Before I spoke to you, I had the audacity to think of asking for what\nyou have just freely offered. Not knowing to what extent my fury might\ncarry me, I had thought of asking you this favor, which you would not\nperhaps grant to an equal, but I did not dare to do it. I shrunk even\nfrom the avowal of the treachery I have cause to fear, and I came only to\ntell you of my misery--because to you alone in all the world I could tell\nit.\"\n\nIt is impossible to describe the almost candid simplicity, with which the\nhalf-breed pronounced these words, and the soft tones, mingled with\ntears, which had succeeded his savage fury. Deeply affected, Djalma\nraised him from the ground, and said: \"You were entitled to ask of me a\nmark of friendship. I am happy in having forestalled you. Courage! be of\ngood cheer! I will accompany you to this interview, and if my hopes do\nnot deceive me, you will find you have been deluded by false\nappearances.\"\n\nWhen the night was come, the half-breed and Djalma, wrapped in their\ncloaks, got into a hackney-coach. Faringhea ordered the coachman to drive\nto the house inhabited by Sainte-Colombe.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXIV.\n\nAN EVENING AT SAINTE-COLOMBE'S.\n\nLeaving Djalma and Faringhea in the coach, on their way, a few words are\nindispensable before continuing this scene.  Ninny Moulin, ignorant of\nthe real object of the step he took at the instigation of Rodin, had, on\nthe evening before, according to orders received from the latter, offered\na considerable sum to Sainte-Colombe, to obtain from that creature (still\nsingularly rapacious) the use of her apartments for whole day.\nSainte-Colombe, having accepted this proposition, too advantageous to be\nrefused, had set out that morning with her servants, to whom she wished,\nshe said, in return for their good services, to give a day's pleasure in\nthe country. Master of the house, Rodin, in a black wig, blue spectacles,\nand a cloak, and with his mouth and chin buried in a worsted\ncomforter--in a word, perfectly disguised--had gone that morning to take\na look at the apartments, and to give his instructions to the half-caste.\nThe latter, in two hours from the departure of the Jesuit, had, thanks to\nhis address and intelligence, completed the most important preparation\nand returned in haste to Djalma, to play with detestable hypocrisy the\nscene at which we have just been present.\n\nDuring the ride from the Rue de Clichy to the Rue de Richelieu, Faringhea\nappeared plunged in a mournful reverie. Suddenly, he said to Djalma to a\nquick tone: \"My lord, if I am betrayed, I must have vengeance.\"\n\n\"Contempt is a terrible revenge,\" answered Djalma.\n\n\"No, no,\" replied the half-caste, with an accent of repressed rage. \"It\nis not enough. The nearer the moment approaches, the more I feel I must\nhave blood.\"\n\n\"Listen to me--\"\n\n\"My lord, have pity on me! I was a coward to draw back from my revenge.\nLet me leave you, my lord! I will go alone to this interview.\"\n\nSo saying, Faringhea made a movement, as if he would spring from the\ncarriage.\n\nDjalma held him by the arm, and said: \"Remain! I wilt not leave you. If\nyou are betrayed, you shall not shed blood. Contempt will avenge and\nfriendship will console you.\"\n\n\"No, no, my lord; I am resolved. When I have killed--then I will kill\nmyself,\" cried the half-caste, with savage excitement. \"This kandjiar for\nthe false ones!\" added he, laying his hand on his dagger. \"The poison in\nthe hilt for me.\"\n\n\"Faringhea--\"\n\n\"If I resist you, my lord, forgive me! My destiny must be accomplished.\"\n\nTime pressed, and Djalma, despairing to calm the other's ferocious rage,\nresolved to have recourse to a stratagem.\n\nAfter some minutes' silence, he said to Faringhea: \"I will not leave you.\nI will do all I can to save you from a crime. If I do not succeed, the\nblood you shed be on your own head. This hand shall never again be locked\nin yours.\"\n\nThese words appeared to make a deep impression on Faringhea. He breathed\na long sigh, and, bowing his head upon his breast, remained silent and\nfull of thought. Djalma prepared, by the faint light of the lamps,\nreflected in the interior of the coach, to throw himself suddenly on the\nhalf-caste, and disarm him. But the latter, who saw at a glance the\nintention of the prince, drew his kandjiar abruptly from his girdle, and\nholding it still in its sheath, said to the prince in a half-solemn,\nhalf-savage tone: \"This dagger, in a strong hand, is terrible; and in\nthis phial is one of the most subtle poisons of our country.\"\n\nHe touched a spring, and the knob at the top of the hilt rose like a lid,\ndiscovering the mouth of a small crystal phial concealed in this\nmurderous weapon.\n\n\"Two or three drops of this poison upon the lips,\" resumed the half\ncaste, \"and death comes slowly and peacefully, in a few hours, and\nwithout pain. Only, for the first symptom, the nails turn blue. But he\nwho emptied this phial at a draught would fall dead, as if struck by\nlightning.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Djalma; \"I know that our country produces such mysterious\npoisons. But why lay such stress on the murderous properties of this\nweapon?\"\n\n\"To show you, my lord, that this kandjiar would ensure the success and\nimpunity of my vengeance. With the blade I could destroy, and by the\npoison escape from human justice. Well, my lord! this kandjiar--take\nit--I give it up to you--I renounce my vengeance--rather than render\nmyself unworthy to clasp again your hand!\"\n\nHe presented the dagger to the prince, who, as pleased as surprised at\nthis unexpected determination, hastily secured the terrible weapon\nbeneath his own girdle; whilst the half-breed continued, in a voice of\nemotion: \"Deep this kandjiar, my lord--and when you have seen and heard\nall that we go to hear and see--you shall either give me the dagger to\nstrike a wretch--or the poison, to die without striking. You shall\ncommand; I will obey.\"\n\nDjalma was about to reply, when the coach stopped at the house inhabited\nby Sainte-Colombe. The prince and the half-caste, well enveloped in their\nmantles, entered a dark porch, and the door was closed after them.\nFaringhea exchanged a few words with the porter, and the latter gave him\na key. The two Orientals soon arrived at Sainte-Colombe's apartments,\nwhich had two doors opening upon the landing-place, besides a private\nentrance from the courtyard. As he put the key into the lock, Faringhea\nsaid to Djalma, in an agitated voice: \"Pity my weakness, my lord--but, at\nthis terrible moment, I tremble and hesitate. It were perhaps better to\ndoubt--or to forget!\"\n\nThen, as the prince was about to answer, the half-caste exclaimed: \"No!\nwe must have no cowardice!\" and, opening the door precipitately, he\nentered, followed by Djalma.\n\nWhen the door was again closed, the prince and the half-caste found\nthemselves in a dark and narrow passage. \"Your hand, my lord--let me\nguide you--walk lightly,\" said Faringhea, in a low whisper.\n\nHe extended his hand to the prince, who took hold of it, and they both\nadvanced silently through the darkness. After leading Djalma some\ndistance, and opening and closing several doors, the half-caste stopped\nabruptly, and abandoning the hand which he had hitherto held, said to the\nprince: \"My lord, the decisive moment approaches; let us wait here for a\nfew seconds.\"\n\nA profound silence followed these words of the half-caste. The darkness\nwas so complete, that Djalma could distinguish nothing. In about a\nminute, he heard Faringhea moving away from him; and then a door was\nsuddenly opened, and as abruptly closed and locked. This circumstance\nmade Djalma somewhat uneasy. By a mechanical movement, he laid his hand\nupon his dagger, and advanced cautiously towards the side, where he\nsupposed the door to be.\n\nSuddenly, the half-caste's voice struck upon his ear, though it was\nimpossible to guess whence it came. \"My lord,\" it said, \"you told me, you\nwere my friend. I act as a friend. If I have employed stratagem to bring\nyou hither, it is because the blindness of your fatal passion would\notherwise have prevented your accompanying me. The Princess de Saint\nDizier named to you Agricola Baudoin, the lover of Adrienne de\nCardoville. Listen--look--judge!\"\n\nThe voice ceased. It appeared to have issued from one corner of the room.\nDjalma, still in darkness, perceived too late into what a snare he had\nfallen, and trembled with rage--almost with alarm.\n\n\"Faringhea!\" he exclaimed; \"where am I? where are you? Open the door on\nyour life! I would leave this place instantly.\"\n\nExtending his arms, the prince advanced hastily several steps, but he\nonly touched a tapestried wall; he followed it, hoping to find the door,\nand he at length found it; but it was locked, and resisted all his\nefforts. He continued his researches, and came to a fireplace with no\nfire in it, and to a second door, equally fast. In a few moments, he had\nthus made the circle of the room, and found himself again at the\nfireplace. The anxiety of the prince increased more and more. He called\nFaringhea, in a voice trembling with passion. There was no answer.\nProfound silence reigned without, and complete darkness within. Ere long,\na perfumed vapor, of indescribable sweetness, but very subtle and\npenetrating, spread itself insensibly through the little room in which\nDjalma was. It might be, that the orifice of a tube, passing through one\nof the doors of the room, introduced this balmy current. At the height of\nangry and terrible thoughts, Djalma paid no attention to this odor--but\nsoon the arteries of his temples began to beat violently, a burning heat\nseemed to circulate rapidly through his veins, he felt a sensation of\npleasure, his resentment died gradually away, and a mild, ineffable\ntorpor crept over him, without his being fully conscious of the mental\ntransformation that was taking place. Yet, by a last effort of the\nwavering will, Djalma advanced once more to try and open one of the\ndoors; he found it indeed, but at this place the vapor was so strong,\nthat its action redoubled, and, unable to move a step further, Djalma was\nobliged to support himself by leaning against the wall.[43]\n\nThen a strange thing happened. A faint light spread itself gradually\nthrough an adjoining apartment, and Djalma now perceived, for the first\ntime, the existence of a little round window, in the wall of the room in\nwhich he was. On the side of the prince, this opening was protected by a\nslight but strong railing, which hardly intercepted the view. On the\nother side a thick piece of plate-glass was fixed at the distance of two\nor three inches from the railing in question. The room, which Djalma saw\nthrough this window, and through which the faint light was now gradually\nspreading, was richly furnished. Between two windows, hung with crimson\nsilk curtains, stood a kind of wardrobe, with a looking-glass front;\nopposite the fireplace in which glowed the burning coals, was a long,\nwide divan, furnished with cushions.\n\nIn another second a woman entered this apartment. Her face and figure\nwere invisible, being wrapped in a long, hooded mantle, of peculiar form,\nand a dark color. The sight of this mantle made Djalma start. To the\npleasure he at first felt succeeded a feverish anxiety, like the growing\nfumes of intoxication. There was that strange buzzing in his ears which\nwe experience when we plunge into deep waters. It was in a kind of\ndelirium that Djalma looked on at what was passing in the next room. The\nwoman who had just appeared entered with caution, almost with fear.\nDrawing aside one of the window curtains, she glanced through the closed\nblinds into the street. Then she returned slowly to the fireplace, where\nshe stood for a moment pensive, still carefully enveloped in her mantle.\nCompletely yielding to the influence of the vapor, which deprived him of\nhis presence of mind--forgetting Faringhea, and all the circumstances\nthat had accompanied his arrival at this house--Djalma concentrated all\nthe powers of his attention on the spectacle before him, at which he\nseemed to be present as in a dream.\n\nSuddenly Djalma saw the woman leave the fireplace and advance towards the\nlooking-glass. Turning her face toward it, she allowed the mantle to\nglide down to her feet. Djalma was thunderstruck. He saw the face of\nAdrienne de Cardoville. Yes, Adrienne, as he had seen her the night\nbefore, attired as during her interview with the Princess de Saint\nDizier--the light green dress, the rose-colored ribbons, the white head\nornaments. A network of white beads concealed her back hair, and\nharmonized admirably with the shining gold of her ringlets. Finally, as\nfar as the Hindoo could judge through the railing and the thick glass,\nand in the faint light, it was the figure of Adrienne, with her marble\nshoulders and swan-like neck, so proud and so graceful. In a word, he\ncould not, he did not doubt that it was Adrienne de Cardoville. Djalma\nwas bathed in a burning dew, his dizzy excitement increased, and, with\nbloodshot eye and heaving bosom, he remained motionless, gazing almost\nwithout the power of thought. The young lady, with her back still turned\ntowards Djalma, arranged her hair with graceful art, took off the network\nwhich formed her head-dress, placed it on the chimney-piece, and began to\nunfasten her gown; then, withdrawing from the looking-glass, she\ndisappeared for an instant from Djalma's view.\n\n\"She is expecting Agricola Baudoin, her lover,\" said a voice, which\nseemed to proceed from the wall of the dark room in which Djalma was.\n\nNotwithstanding his bewilderment, these terrible words, \"She is expecting\nAgricola Baudoin, her lover,\" passed like a stream of fire through the\nbrain and heart of the prince. A cloud of blood came over his eyes, he\nuttered a hollow moan, which the thickness of the glass prevented from\nbeing heard in the next room, and broke his nails in attempting to tear\ndown the iron railing before the window.\n\nHaving reached this paroxysm of delirious rage, Djalma saw the uncertain\nlight grow still fainter, as if it had been discreetly obscured, and,\nthrough the vapory shadow that hung before him, he perceived the young\nlady returning, clad in a long white dressing-gown, and with her golden\ncurls floating over her naked arms and shoulders. She advanced cautiously\nin the direction of a door which was hid from Djalma's view. At this\nmoment, one of the doors of the apartment in which the prince was\nconcealed was gently opened by an invisible hand. Djalma noticed it by\nthe click of the lock, and by the current of fresh air which streamed\nupon his face, for he could see nothing. This door, left open for Djalma,\nlike that in the next room, to which the young lady had drawn near, led\nto a sort of ante-chamber communicating with the stairs, which some one\nnow rapidly ascended, and, stopping short, knocked twice at the outer\ndoor.\n\n\"Here comes Agricola Baudoin. Look and listen!\" said the same voice that\nthe prince had already heard.\n\nMad, intoxicated, but with the fixed idea and reckless determination of a\nmadman or a drunkard, Djalma drew the dagger which Faringhea had left in\nhis possession, and stood in motionless expectation. Hardly were the two\nknocks heard before the young lady quitted the apartment, from which\nstreamed a faint ray of light, ran to the door of the staircase, so that\nsome faint glimmer reached the place where Djalma stood watching, his\ndagger in his hand. He saw the young lady pass across the ante-chamber,\nand approach the door of the staircase, where she said in a whisper: \"Who\nis there?\"\n\n\"It is I--Agricola Baudoin,\" answered, from, without, a manly voice.\n\nWhat followed was rapid as lightning, and must be conceived rather than\ndescribed. Hardly had the young lady drawn the bolt of the door, hardly\nhad Agricola Baudoin stepped across the threshold, than Djalma, with the\nbound of a tiger, stabbed as it were at once, so rapid were the strokes,\nboth the young lady, who fell dead on the floor, and Agricola, who sank,\ndangerously wounded, by the side of the unfortunate victim. This scene of\nmurder, rapid as thought, took place in the midst of a half obscurity.\nSuddenly the faint light from the chamber was completely extinguished,\nand a second after, Djalma felt his arm seized in the darkness by an iron\ngrasp, and the voice of Faringhea whispered: \"You are avenged. Come; we\ncan secure our retreat.\" Inert, stupefied at what he had done, Djalma\noffered no resistance, and let himself be dragged by the half-caste into\nthe inner apartment, from which there was another way out.\n\nWhen Rodin had exclaimed, in his admiration of the generative power of\nthought, that the word NECKLACE had been the germ of the infernal project\nhe then contemplated, it was, that chance had brought to his mind the\nremembrance of the too famous affair of the diamond necklace, in which a\nwoman, thanks to her vague resemblance to Queen Marie Antoinette, being\ndressed like that princess, and favored by the uncertainty of a twilight,\nhad played so skillfully the part of her unfortunate sovereign, as to\nmake the Cardinal Prince de Rohan, though familiar with the court, the\ncomplete dupe of the illusion. Having once determined on his execrable\ndesign, Rodin had sent Jacques Dumoulin to Sainte-Colombe, without\ntelling him the real object of his mission, to ask this experienced woman\nto procure a fine young girl, tall, and with red hair. Once found, a\ncostume exactly resembling that worn by Adrienne, and of which the\nPrincess de Saint-Dizier gave the description to Rodin (though herself\nignorant of this new plot), was to complete the deception. The rest is\nknown, or may be guessed. The unfortunate girl, who acted as Adrienne's\ndouble, believed she was only aiding in a jest. As for Agricola, he had\nreceived a letter, in which he was invited to a meeting that might be of\nthe greatest importance to Mdlle. de Cardoville.\n\n[43] See the strange effect of hasheesh. To the effect of this is\nattributed the kind of hallucination which seized on those unhappy\npersons, whom the Prince of the Assassins (the Old Man of the Mountain)\nused as the instruments of his vengeance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXV.\n\nTHE NUPTIAL BED.\n\nThe mild light of a circular lamp of oriental alabaster, suspended from\nthe ceiling by three silver chains, spreads a faint lustre through the\nbed-chamber of Adrienne de Cardoville.\n\nThe large ivory bedstead, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, is not at present\noccupied, and almost disappears beneath snowy curtains of lace and\nmuslin, transparent and vapory as clouds. On the white marble\nmantlepiece, from beneath which the fire throws ruddy beams on the ermine\ncarpet, is the usual basket filled with a bush of red camellias, in the\nmidst of their shining green leaves. A pleasant aromatic odor, rising\nfrom a warm and perfumed bath in the next room, penetrates every corner\nof the bed-chamber. All without is calm and silent. It is hardly eleven\no'clock. The ivory door, opposite to that which leads to the bath-room,\nopens slowly. Djalma appears. Two hours have elapsed since he committed a\ndouble murder, and believed that he had killed Adrienne in a fit of\njealous fury.\n\nThe servants of Mdlle. de Cardoville, accustomed to Djalma's daily\nvisits, no longer announced his arrival, and admitted him without\ndifficulty, having received no orders to the contrary from their\nmistress. He had never before entered the bed-chamber, but, knowing that\nthe apartment the lady occupied was on the first floor of the house, he\nhad easily found it. As he entered that virgin sanctuary, his countenance\nwas pretty calm, so well did he control his feelings, only a slight\npaleness tarnished the brilliant amber of his complexion. He wore that\nday a robe of purple cashmere, striped with silver--a color which did not\nshow the stains of blood upon it. Djalma closed the door after him, and\ntore off his white turban, for it seemed to him as if a band of hot iron\nencircled his brow. His dark hair streamed around his handsome face. He\ncrossed his arms upon his bosom, and looked slowly about him. When his\neyes rested on Adrienne's bed, he started suddenly, and his cheek grew\npurple. Then he drew his hand across his brow, hung down his head, and\nremained standing for some moments in a dream, motionless as a statue.\n\nAfter a mournful silence of a few seconds' duration, Djalma fell upon his\nknees, and raised his eyes to heaven. The Asiatic's countenance was\nbathed in tears, and no longer expressed any violent passion. On his\nfeatures was no longer the stamp of hate, or despair, or the ferocious\njoy of vengeance gratified. It was rather the expression of grief at once\nsimple and immense. For several minutes he was almost choked with sobs,\nand tears ran freely down his cheeks.\n\n\"Dead! dead!\" he murmured, in a half-stifled voice. \"She, who this\nmorning slept so peacefully in this chamber! And I have killed her. Now\nthat she is dead, what is her treachery to me? I should not have killed\nher for that. She had betrayed me; she loved the man whom I slew--she\nloved him! Alas! I could not hope to gain the preference,\" added he, with\na touching mixture of resignation and remorse; \"I, poor, untaught\nyouth--how could I merit her love? It was my fault that she did not love\nme; but, always generous, she concealed from me her indifference, that\nshe might not make me too unhappy--and for that I killed her. What was\nher crime? Did she not meet me freely? Did she not open to me her\ndwelling? Did she not allow me to pass whole days with her? No doubt she\ntried to love me, and could not. I loved her with all the faculties of my\nsoul, but my love was not such as she required. For that, I should not\nhave killed her. But a fatal delusion seized me and, after it was done, I\nwoke as from a dream. Alas! it was not a dream: I have killed her. And\nyet--until this evening--what happiness I owed to her--what hope--what\njoy! She made my heart better, nobler, more generous. All came from her,\"\nadded the Indian, with a new burst of grief. \"That remained with me--no\none could take from me that treasure of the past--that ought to have\nconsoled me. But why think of it? I struck them both--her and the\nman--without a struggle. It was a cowardly murder--the ferocity of the\ntiger that tears its innocent prey!\"\n\nDjalma buried his face in his hands. Then, drying his tears, he resumed,\n\"I know, clearly, that I mean to die also. But my death will not restore\nher to life!\"\n\nHe rose from the ground, and drew from his girdle Faringhea's bloody\ndagger; then, taking the little phial from the hilt, he threw the blood\nstained blade upon the ermine carpet, the immaculate whiteness of which\nwas thus slightly stained with red.\n\n\"Yes,\" resumed Djalma, holding the phial with a convulsive grasp, \"I know\nwell that I am about to die. It is right. Blood for blood; my life for\nhers. How happens it that my steel did not turn aside? How could I kill\nher?--but it is done--and my heart is full of remorse, and sorrow, an\ninexpressible tenderness--and I have come here--to die!\n\n\"Here, in this chamber,\" he continued, \"the heaven of my burning\nvisions!\" And then he added, with a heartrending accent, as he again\nburied his face in his hands, \"Dead! dead!\"\n\n\"Well! I too shall soon be dead,\" he resumed, in a firmer voice. \"But,\nno! I will die slowly, gradually. A few drops of the poison will suffice;\nand, when I am quite certain of dying, my remorse will perhaps be less\nterrible. Yesterday, she pressed my hand when we parted. Who could have\nforetold me this?\" The Indian raised the phial resolutely to his lips. He\ndrank a few drops of the liquor it contained, and replaced it on a little\nivory table close to Adrienne's bed.\n\n\"This liquor is sharp and hot,\" said he. \"Now I am certain to die. Oh!\nthat I may still have time to feast on the sight and perfume of this\nchamber--to lay my dying head on the couch where she has reposed.\"\n\nDjalma fell on his knees beside the bed, and leaned against it his\nburning brow. At this moment, the ivory door, which communicated with the\nbath-room, rolled gently on its hinges, and Adrienne entered. The young\nlady had just sent away her woman, who had assisted to undress her. She\nwore a long muslin wrapper of lustrous whiteness. Her golden hair, neatly\narranged in little plaits, formed two bands, which gave to her sweet face\nan extremely juvenile air. Her snowy complexion was slightly tinged with\nrose-color, from the warmth of the perfumed bath, which she used for a\nfew seconds every evening. When she opened the ivory door, and placed her\nlittle naked foot, in its white satin slipper, upon the ermine carpet,\nAdrienne was dazzlingly beautiful. Happiness sparkled in her eyes, and\nadorned her brow. All the difficulties relative to her union with Djalma\nhad now been removed. In two days she would be his. The sight of the\nnuptial chamber oppressed her with a vague and ineffable languor. The\nivory door had been opened so gently, the lady's first steps were so soft\nupon the fur carpet, that Djalma, still leaning against the bed, had\nheard nothing. But suddenly a cry of surprise and alarm struck upon his\near. He turned round abruptly. Adrienne stood before him.\n\nWith an impulse of modesty, Adrienne closed her nightdress over her\nbosom, and hastily drew back, still more afflicted than angry at what she\nconsidered a guilty attempt on the part of Djalma. Cruelly hurt and\noffended, she was about to reproach him with his conduct, when she\nperceived the dagger, which he had thrown down upon the ermine carpet. At\nsight of this weapon, and the expression of fear and stupor which\npetrified the features of Djalma, who remained kneeling, motionless, with\nhis body thrown back, hands stretched out, his eyes fixed and wildly\nstaring Adrienne, no longer dreading an amorous surprise, was seized with\nan indescribable terror, and, instead of flying from the prince, advanced\nseveral steps towards him, and said, in an agitated voice, whilst she\npointed to the kandjiar, \"My friend, why are you here? what ails you? why\nthis dagger?\"\n\nDjalma made no answer. At first, the presence of Adrienne seemed to him a\nvision, which he attributed to the excitement of his brain, already (it\nmight be) under the influence of the poison. But when the soft voice\nsounded in his ears--when his heart bounded with the species of electric\nshock, which he always felt when he met the gaze of that woman so\nardently beloved--when he had contemplated for an instant that adorable\nface, so fresh and fair, in spite of its expression of deep\nuneasiness--Djalma understood that he was not the sport of a dream, but\nthat Mdlle. de Cardoville was really before his eyes.\n\nThen, as he began fully to grasp the thought that Adrienne was not dead,\nthough he could not at all explain the prodigy of her resurrection, the\nHindoo's countenance was transfigured, the pale gold of his complexion\nbecame warm and red, his eyes (tarnished by tears of remorse) shone with\nnew radiance, and his features, so lately contracted with terror and\ndespair, expressed all the phases of the most ecstatic joy. Advancing,\nstill on his knees, towards Adrienne, he lifted up to her his trembling\nhands, and, too deeply affected to pronounce a word, he gazed on her with\nso much amazement, love, adoration, gratitude, that the young lady,\nfascinated by those inexplicable looks, remained mute also, motionless\nalso, and felt, by the precipitate beating of her heart, and by the\nshudder which ran through her frame, that there was here some dreadful\nmystery to be unfolded.\n\nAt last, Djalma, clasping his hands together, exclaimed with an accent\nimpossible to describe, \"Thou art not dead!\"\n\n\"Dead!\" repeated the young lady, in amazement.\n\n\"It was not thou, really not thou, whom I killed? God is kind and just!\"\n\nAnd as he pronounced these words with intense joy, the unfortunate youth\nforgot the victim whom he had sacrificed in error.\n\nMore and more alarmed, and again glancing at the dagger en which she now\nperceived marks of blood--a terrible evidence, in confirmation of the\nwords of Djalma--Mdlle. de Cardoville exclaimed, \"You have killed some\none, Djalma! Oh! what does he say? It is dreadful!\"\n\n\"You are alive--I see you--you are here,\" said Djalma, in a voice\ntrembling with rapture. \"You are here--beautiful! pure! for it was not\nyou! Oh, no! had it been you, the steel would have turned back upon\nmyself.\"\n\n\"You have killed some one?\" cried the young lady, beside her with this\nunforeseen revelation, and clasping her hands in horror. \"Why? whom did\nyou kill?\"\n\n\"I do not know. A woman that was like you--a man that I thought your\nlover--it was an illusion, a frightful dream--you are alive--you are\nhere!\"\n\nAnd the oriental wept for joy.\n\n\"A dream? but no, it is not a dream. There is blood upon that dagger!\"\ncried the young lady, as she pointed wildly to the kandjiar. \"I tell you\nthere is blood upon it!\"\n\n\"Yes. I threw it down just now, when I took the poison from it, thinking\nthat I had killed you.\"\n\n\"The poison!\" exclaimed Adrienne, and her teeth chattered convulsively.\n\"What poison?\"\n\n\"I thought I had killed you, and I came here to die.\"\n\n\"To die? Oh! wherefore? who is to die?\" cried the young lady, almost in\ndelirium.\n\n\"I,\" replied Djalma, with inexpressible tenderness, \"I thought I had\nkilled you--and I took poison.\"\n\n\"You!\" exclaimed Adrienne, becoming pale as death. \"You!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Oh! it is not true!\" said the young lady, shaking her head.\n\n\"Look!\" said the Asiatic. Mechanically, he turned towards the\nbed--towards the little ivory table, on which sparkled the crystal phial.\n\nWith a sudden movement, swifter than thought, swifter, it may be, than\nthe will, Adrienne rushed to the table, seized the phial, and applied it\neagerly to her lips.\n\nDjalma had hitherto remained on his knees; but he now uttered a terrible\ncry, made one spring to the drinker's side, and dragged away the phial,\nwhich seemed almost glued to her mouth.\n\n\"No matter! I have swallowed as much as you,\" said Adrienne, with an air\nof gloomy triumph.\n\nFor an instant, there followed an awful silence. Adrienne and Djalma\ngazed upon each other, mute, motionless, horror-struck. The young lady\nwas the first to break this mournful silence, and said in a tone which\nshe tried to make calm and steady, \"Well! what is there extraordinary in\nthis? You have killed, and death most expiate your crime. It is just. I\nwill not survive you. That also is natural enough. Why look at me thus?\nThis poison has a sharp taste--does it act quickly! Tell me, my Djalma!\"\n\nThe prince did not answer. Shuddering through all his frame, he looked\ndown upon his hands. Faringhea had told the truth; a slight violet tint\nappeared already beneath the nails. Death was approaching, slowly, almost\ninsensibly, but not the less certain. Overwhelmed with despair at the\nthought that Adrienne, too, was about to die, Djalma felt his courage\nfail him. He uttered a long groan, and hid his face in his hands. His\nknees shook under him, and he felt down upon the bed, near which he was\nstanding.\n\n\"Already?\" cried the young lady in horror, as she threw herself on her\nknees at Djalma's feet. \"Death already? Do you hide your face from me?\"\n\nIn her fright, she pulled his hands from before his face. That face was\nbathed in tears.\n\n\"No, not yet,\" murmured he, through his sobs. \"The poison is slow.\"\n\n\"Really!\" cried Adrienne, with ineffable joy. Then, kissing the hands of\nDjalma, she added tenderly, \"If the poison is slow, why do you weep?\"\n\n\"For you! for you!\" said the Indian, in a heart-rending tone.\n\n\"Think not of me,\" replied Adrienne, resolutely. \"You have killed, and we\nmust expiate the crime. I know not what has taken place; but I swear by\nour love that you did not do evil for evil's sake. There is some horrible\nmystery in all this.\"\n\n\"On a pretence which I felt bound to believe,\" replied Djalma, speaking\nquickly, and panting for breath, \"Faringhea led me to a certain house.\nOnce there, he told me that you had betrayed me. I did not believe him,\nbut I know not what strange dizziness seized upon me--and then, through a\nhalf-obscurity, I saw you--\"\n\n\"Me!\"\n\n\"No--not you--but a woman resembling you, dressed like you, so that I\nbelieved the illusion--and then there came a man--and you flew to meet\nhim--and I--mad with rage--stabbed her, stabbed him, saw them fall--and\nso came here to die. And now I find you only to cause your death. Oh,\nmisery! misery! that you should die through me!\"\n\nAnd Djalma, this man of formidable energy, began again to weep with the\nweakness of a child. At sight of this deep, touching, passionate despair,\nAdrienne, with that admirable courage which women alone possess in love,\nthought only of consoling Djalma. By an effort of superhuman passion, as\nthe prince revealed to her this infernal plot, the lady's countenance\nbecame so splendid with an expression of love and happiness, that the\nEast Indian looked at her in amazement, fearing for an instant that he\nmust have lost his reason.\n\n\"No more tears, my adored!\" cried the young lady, exultingly. \"No more\ntears--but only smiles of joy and love! Our cruel enemies shall not\ntriumph!\"\n\n\"What do you say?\"\n\n\"They wished to make us miserable. We pity them. Our felicity shall be\nthe envy of the world!\"\n\n\"Adrienne--bethink you--\"\n\n\"Oh! I have all my senses about me. Listen to me, my adored! I now\nunderstand it all. Falling into a snare, which these wretches spread for\nyou, you have committed murder. Now, in this country, murder leads to\ninfamy, or the scaffold--and to-morrow--to-night, perhaps--you would be\nthrown into prison. But our enemies have said: 'A man like Prince Djalma\ndoes not wait for infamy--he kills himself. A woman like Adrienne de\nCardoville does not survive the disgrace or death of her lover--she\nprefers to die.'\"\n\n\"Therefore a frightful death awaits them both,\" said the black-robed men;\n\"and that immense inheritance, which we covet--'\"\n\n\"And for you--so young, so beautiful so innocent--death is frightful, and\nthese monsters triumph!\" cried Djalma. \"They have spoken the truth!\"\n\n\"They have lied!\" answered Adrienne. \"Our death shall be celestial. This\npoison is slow--and I adore you, my Djalma!\"\n\nShe spoke those words in a low voice, trembling with passionate love,\nand, leaning upon Djalma's knees, approached so near, that he felt her\nwarm breath upon his cheek. As he felt that breath, and saw the humid\nflame that darted from the large, swimming eyes of Adrienne, whose half\nopened lips were becoming of a still deeper and brighter hue, the Indian\nstarted--his young blood boiled in his veins--he forgot everything--his\ndespair, and the approach of death, which as yet (as with Adrienne), only\nshowed itself in a kind of feverish ardor. His face, like the young\ngirl's, became once more splendidly beautiful.\n\n\"Oh, my lover! my husband! how beautiful you are!\" said Adrienne, with\nidolatry. \"Those eyes--that brow--those lips--how I love them!--How many\ntimes has the remembrance of your grace and beauty, coupled with your\nlove, unsettled my reason, and shaken my resolves--even to this moment,\nwhen I am wholly yours!--Yes, heaven wills that we should be united. Only\nthis morning, I gave to the apostolic man, that was to bless our union,\nin thy name and mine, a royal gift--a gift, that will bring joy and peace\nto the heart of many an unfortunate creature. Then what have we to\nregret, my beloved? Our immortal souls will pass away in a kiss, and\nascend, full of love, to that God who is all love!\"\n\n\"Adrienne!\"\n\n\"Djalma!\"\n\nThe light, transparent curtains fell like a cloud over that nuptial and\nfunereal couch. Yes, funereal; for, two hours after, Adrienne and Djalma\nbreathed their last sigh in a voluptuous agony.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXVI.\n\nA DUEL TO THE DEATH.\n\nAdrienne and Djalma died on the 30th of May. The following scene took\nplace on the 31st, the eve of the day appointed for the last convocation\nof the heirs of Marius de Rennepont. The reader will no doubt remember\nthe room occupied by M. Hardy, in the \"house of retreat,\" in the Rue de\nVaugirard--a gloomy and retired apartment, opening on a dreary little\ngarden, planted with yew-trees, and surrounded by high walls. To reach\nthis chamber, it was necessary to cross two vast rooms, the doors of\nwhich, once shut, intercepted all noise and communication from without.\nBearing this in mind, we may go on with our narrative. For the last three\nor four days, Father d'Aigrigny occupied this apartment. He had not\nchosen it, but had been induced to accept it, under most plausible\npretexts, given him at the instigation of Rodin. It was about noon.\nSeated in an arm-chair, by the window opening on the little garden,\nFather d'Aigrigny held in his hand a newspaper, in which he read as\nfollows, under the head of \"Paris:\"\n\n\"Eleven p.m.--A most horrible and tragical event has just excited the\ngreatest consternation in the quarter of the Rue de Richelieu. A double\nmurder has been committed, on the person of a young man and woman. The\ngirl was killed on the spot, by the stroke of a dagger; hopes are\nentertained of saving the life of the young man. The crime is attributed\nto jealousy. The officers of justice are investigating the matter. We\nshall give full particulars tomorrow.\"\n\nWhen he had read these lines, Father d'Aigrigny threw down the paper and\nremained in deep thought.\n\n\"It is incredible,\" said he, with bitter envy, in allusion to Rodin. \"He\nhas attained his end. Hardly one of his anticipations has been defeated.\nThis family is annihilated, by the mere play of the passions, good and\nevil that he has known how to set in motion. He said it would be so. Oh!\nI must confess,\" added Father d'Aigrigny, with a jealous and hateful\nsmile, \"that Rodin is a man of rare dissimulation, patience, energy,\nobstinacy and intelligence. Who would have told a few months ago, when he\nwrote under my orders, a discreet and humble socius, that he had already\nconceived the most audacious ambition, and dared to lift his eyes to the\nHoly See itself? that, thanks to intrigues and corruption, pursued with\nwondrous ability, these views were not so unreasonable? Nay, that this\ninfernal ambition would soon be realized, were it not that the secret\nproceedings of this dangerous man have long been as secretly\nwatched?--Ah!\" sneered Father d'Aigrigny, with a smile of irony and\ntriumph, \"you wish to be a second Sixtus V., do you? And, not content\nwith this audacious pretension, you mean, if successful, to absorb our\nCompany in the Papacy, even as the Sultan has absorbed the Janissaries.\nAh! You would make us your stepping-stone to power! And you have thought\nto humiliate and crush me with your insolent disdain! But patience,\npatience: the day of retribution approaches. I alone am the depository of\nour General's will. Father Caboccini himself does not know that. The fate\nof Rodin is in my hands. Oh! it will not be what he expects. In this\nRennepont affair (which, I must needs confess, he has managed admirably),\nhe thinks to outwit us all, and to work only for himself. But\nto-morrow--\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny was suddenly disturbed in these agreeable reflections.\nHe heard the door of the next room open, and, as he turned round to see\nwho was coming, the door of the apartment in which he was turned upon its\nhinges. Father d'Aigrigny started with surprise, and became almost\npurple. Marshal Simon stood before him. And, behind the marshal, in the\nshadow of the door, Father d'Aigrigny perceived the cadaverous face of\nRodin. The latter cast on him one glance of diabolical delight, and\ninstantly disappeared. The door was again closed, and Father d'Aigrigny\nand Marshal Simon were left alone together. The father of Rose and\nBlanche was hardly recognizable. His gray hair had become completely\nwhite. His pale, thin face had not been shaved for some days. His hollow\neyes were bloodshot and restless, and had in them something wild and\nhaggard. He was wrapped in a large cloak, and his black cravat was tied\nloosely about his neck. In withdrawing from the apartment, Rodin had (as\nif by inadvertence) double-locked the door on the outside. When he was\nalone with the Jesuit, the marshal threw back his cloak from his\nshoulders, and Father d'Aigrigny could see two naked swords, stuck\nthrough a silk handkerchief which served him as a belt.\n\nFather d'Aigrigny understood it all. He remembered how, a few days\nbefore, Rodin had obstinately pressed him to say what he would do if the\nmarshal were to strike him in the face. There could be no doubt that he,\nwho thought to have held the fate of Rodin in his hands, had been brought\nby the latter into a fearful peril; for he knew that, the two outer rooms\nbeing closed, there was no possibility of making himself heard, and that\nthe high walls of the garden only bordered upon some vacant lots. The\nfirst thought which occurred to him, one by no means destitute of\nprobability, was that Rodin, either by his agents at Rome, or by his own\nincredible penetration, had learned that his fate depended on Father\nd'Aigrigny, and hoped therefore to get rid of him, by delivering him over\nto the inexorable vengeance of the father of Rose and Blanche. Without\nspeaking a word, the marshal unbound the handkerchief from his waist,\nlaid the two swords upon the table, and, folding his arms upon his\nbreast, advanced slowly towards Father d'Aigrigny. Thus these two men,\nwho through life had pursued each other with implacable hatred, at length\nmet face to face--they, who had fought in hostile armies, and measured\nswords in single combat, and one of whom now came to seek vengeance for\nthe death of his children. As the marshal approached, Father d'Aigrigny\nrose from his seat. He wore that day a black cassock, which rendered\nstill more visible the pale hue, which had now succeeded to the sudden\nflush on his cheek. For a few seconds, the two men stood face to face\nwithout speaking. The marshal was terrific in his paternal despair. His\ncalmness, inexorable as fate, was more impressive than the most furious\nburst of anger.\n\n\"My children are dead,\" said he at last, in a slow and hollow tone. \"I\ncome to kill you.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" cried Father d'Aigrigny, \"listen to me. Do not believe--\"\n\n\"I must kill you,\" resumed the marshal, interrupting the Jesuit; \"your\nhate followed my wife into exile, where she perished. You and your\naccomplices sent my children to certain death. For twenty years you have\nbeen my evil genius. I must have your life, and I will have it.\"\n\n\"My life belongs, first, to God,\" answered Father d'Aigrigny, piously,\n\"and then to who likes to take it.\"\n\n\"We will fight to the death in this room,\" said the marshal; \"and, as I\nhave to avenge my wife and children, I am tranquil as to the result.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" answered Father d'Aigrigny, coldly, \"you forget that my profession\nforbids me to fight. Once I accepted your challenge--but my position is\nchanged since then.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the marshal, with a bitter smile; \"you refuse to fight because\nyou are a priest?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir--because I am a priest.\"\n\n\"So that, because he is a priest, a wretch like you may commit any crime,\nany baseness, under shelter of his black gown?\"\n\n\"I do not understand a word of your accusations. In any case, the law is\nopen,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, biting his pale lips, for he felt deeply\nthe insult offered by the marshal; \"if you have anything to complain of,\nappeal to that law, before which all are equal.\"\n\nMarshal Simon shrugged his shoulders in angry disdain. \"Your crimes\nescape the law--and, could it even reach you, that would not satisfy my\nvengeance, after all the evil you have done me, after all you have taken\nfrom me,\" said the marshal; and, at the memory of his children, his voice\nslightly trembled; but he soon proceeded, with terrible calmness: \"You\nmust feel that I now only live for vengeance. And I must have such\nrevenge as is worth the seeking--I must have your coward's heart\npalpitating on the point of my sword. Our last duel was play; this will\nbe earnest--oh! you shall see.\"\n\nThe marshal walked up to the table, where he had laid the two swords.\nFather d'Aigrigny needed all his resolution to restrain himself. The\nimplacable hate which he had always felt for Marshal Simon, added to\nthese insults, filled him with savage ardor. Yet he answered, in a tone\nthat was still calm: \"For the last time, sir, I repeat to you, that my\nprofession forbids me to fight.\"\n\n\"Then you refuse?\" said the marshal, turning abruptly towards him.\n\n\"I refuse.\"\n\n\"Positively?\"\n\n\"Positively. Nothing on earth should force me to it.\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"No, sir; nothing.\"\n\n\"We shall see,\" said the marshal, as his hand fell with its full force on\nthe cheek of Father d'Aigrigny.\n\nThe Jesuit uttered a cry of fury; all his blood rushed to his face, so\nroughly handled; the courage of the man (for he was brave), his ancient\nmilitary ardor, carried him away; his eyes sparkled, and, with teeth\nfirmly set, and clenched fists, he advanced towards the marshal,\nexclaiming: \"The swords! the swords!\"\n\nBut suddenly, remembering the appearance of Rodin, and the interest which\nthe latter had in bringing about this encounter, he determined to avoid\nthe diabolical snare laid by his former socius, and so gathered\nsufficient resolution to restrain his terrible resentment.\n\nTo his passing fury succeeded a calm, full of contrition; and, wishing to\nplay his part out to the end, he knelt down, and bowing his head and\nbeating his bosom, repeated: \"Forgive me, Lord, for yielding to a\nmovement of rage! and, above all, forgive him who has injured me!\"\n\nIn spite of his apparent resignation, the Jesuit's voice was neatly\nagitated. He seemed to feel a hot iron upon his cheek, for never before\nin his life, whether as a soldier or a priest, had he suffered such an\ninsult. He had thrown himself upon his knees, partly from religious\nmummery, and partly to avoid the gaze of the marshal, fearing that, were\nhe to meet his eye, he should not be able to answer for himself, but give\nway to his impetuous feelings. On seeing the Jesuit kneel down, and on\nhearing his hypocritical invocation, the marshal, whose sword was in his\nhand, shook with indignation.\n\n\"Stand up, scoundrel!\" he said, \"stand up, wretch!\" And he spurned the\nJesuit with his boot.\n\nAt this new insult, Father d'Aigrigny leaped up, as if he had been moved\nby steel springs. It was too much; he could bear no more. Blinded with\nrage, he rushed to the able, caught up the other sword, and exclaimed,\ngrinding his teeth together: \"Ah! you will have blood. Well then! it\nshall be yours--if possible!\"\n\nAnd the Jesuit, still in all the vigor of manhood, his face purple, his\nlarge gray eyes sparkling with hate, fell upon his guard with the ease\nand skill of a finished swordsman.\n\n\"At last!\" cried the marshal, as their blades were about to cross.\n\nBut once more reflection came to damp the fire of the Jesuit. He\nremembered how this hazardous duel would gratify the wishes of Rodin,\nwhose fate was in his hands, and whom he hated perhaps even more than the\nmarshal. Therefore, in spite of the fury which possessed him, in spite of\nhis secret hope to conquer in this combat, so strong and healthy did he\nfeel himself, and so fatal had been the effects of grief on the\nconstitution of Marshal Simon, he succeeded in mastering his rage, and,\nto the amazement of the marshal, dropped the point of his sword,\nexclaiming: \"I am a minister of the Lord, and must not shed blood.\nForgive ne, heaven! and, oh! forgive my brother also.\"\n\nThen placing the blade beneath his heel, he drew the hilt suddenly\ntowards him, and broke the weapon into two pieces. The duel was no longer\npossible. Father d'Aigrigny had put it out of his own power to yield to a\nnew burst of violence, of which he saw the imminent danger. Marshal Simon\nremained for an instant mute and motionless with surprise and\nindignation, for he also saw that the duel was now impossible. But,\nsuddenly, imitating the Jesuit, the marshal placed his blade also under\nhis heel, broke it in half, and picking up the pointed end, about\neighteen inches in length tore off his black silk cravat, rolled it round\nthe broken part so as to form a handle, and said to Father d'Aigrigny:\n\"Then we will fight with daggers.\"\n\nStruck with this mixture of coolness and ferocity, the Jesuit exclaimed:\n\"Is this then a demon of hell?\"\n\n\"No; it is a father, whose children have been murdered,\" said the\nmarshal, in a hollow voice, whilst he fitted the blade to his hand, and a\ntear stood in the eye, that instantly after became fierce and ardent.\n\nThe Jesuit saw that tear. There was in this mixture of vindictive rage\nand paternal grief something so awful, and yet so sacred, that for the\nfirst time in his life Father d'Aigrigny felt fear--cowardly, ignoble\nfear--fear for his own safety. While a combat with swords was in\nquestion, in which skill, agility, and experience are such powerful\nauxiliaries to courage, his only difficulty had been to repress the ardor\nof his hate--but when he thought of the combat proposed, body to body,\nface to face, heart to heart, he trembled, grew pale, and exclaimed: \"A\nbutchery with knives?--never!\"\n\nHis countenance and the accent betrayed his alarm, so that the marshal\nhimself was struck with it, and fearing to lose his revenge, he cried:\n\"After all, he is a coward! The wretch had only the courage or the vanity\nof a fencer. This pitiful renegade--this traitor to his country--whom I\nhave cuffed, kicked--yes, kicked, most noble marquis!--shame of your\nancient house--disgrace to the rank of gentleman, old or new--ah! it is\nnot hypocrisy, it is not calculation, as I at first thought--it is fear!\nYou need the noise of war, and the eyes of spectators to give you\ncourage--\"\n\n\"Sir--have a care!\" said Father d'Aigrigny, stammering through his\nclenched teeth, for rage and hate now made him forget his fear-\"Must I\nthen spit on you, to make the little blood you have left rise to your\nface?\" cried the exasperated marshal.\n\n\"Oh! this is too much! too much!\" said the Jesuit, seizing the pointed\npiece of the blade that lay at his feet.\n\n\"It is not enough!\" said the marshal, panting for breath. \"There, Judas!\"\nand he spat in his face.\n\n\"If you will not fight now,\" added the marshal, \"I will beat you like a\ndog, base child-murderer!\"\n\nOn receiving the uttermost insult which can be offered to an already\ninsulted man, Father d'Aigrigny lost all his presence of mind, forgot his\ninterests, his resolutions, his fears, forgot even Rodin--felt only the\nfrenzied ardor of revenge--and, recovering his courage, rejoiced in the\nprospect of a close struggle, in which his superior strength promised\nsuccess over the enfeebled frame of the marshal for, in this kind of\nbrutal and savage combat, physical strength offers an immense advantage.\nIn an instant, Father d'Aigrigny had rolled his handkerchief round the\nbroken blade, and rushed upon Marshal Simon, who received the shock with\nintrepidity. For the short time that this unequal struggle\nlasted--unequal, for the marshal had since some days been a prey to a\ndevouring fever, which had undermined his strength--the two combatants,\nmute in their fury, uttered not a word or a cry. Had any one been present\nat this horrible scene, it would have been impossible for him to tell how\nthey dealt their blows. He would have seen two heads--frightful, livid,\nconvulsed--rising, falling, now here, now there--arms, now stiff as bars\nof iron, and now twisting like serpents--and, in the midst of the\nundulation of the blue coat of the marshal and the black cassock of the\nJesuit, from time to time the sudden gleam of the steel. He would have\nheard only a dull stamping, and now and then a deep breath. In about two\nminutes at most, the two adversaries fell, and rolled one over the other.\nOne of them--it was Father d'Aigrigny--contrived to disengage himself\nwith a violent effort, and to rise upon his knees. His arms fell\npowerless by his side; and then the dying voice of the marshal murmured:\n\"My children! Dagobert!\"\n\n\"I have killed him,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, in a weak voice; \"but I\nfeel--that I am wounded--to death.\"\n\nLeaning with one hand on the ground, the Jesuit pressed the other to his\nbosom. His black cassock was pierced through and through, but the blades,\nwhich had served for the combat, being triangular and very sharp, the\nblood instead of issuing from the wounds, was flowing inwards.\n\n\"Oh! I die--I choke,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, whose features were already\nchanging with the approach of death.\n\nAt this moment, the key turned twice in the door, Rodin appeared on the\nthreshold, and, thrusting in his head, he said in a humble and discreet\nvoice: \"May I come in?\"\n\nAt this dreadful irony, Father d'Aigrigny strove to rise, and rush upon\nRodin; but he fell back exhausted; the blood was choking him.\n\n\"Monster of hell!\" he muttered, casting on Rodin a terrible glance of\nrage and agony. \"Thou art the cause of my death.\"\n\n\"I always told you, my dear father, that your old military habits would\nbe fatal to you,\" answered Rodin with a frightful smile. \"Only a few days\nago, I gave you warning, and advised you take a blow patiently from this\nold swordsman--who seems to have done with that work forever, which is\nwell--for the Scripture says: 'All they that take the sword shall perish\nwith the sword.' And then this Marshal Simon might have had some claim on\nhis daughter's inheritance. And, between ourselves, my dear father, what\nwas I to do? It was necessary to sacrifice you for the common interest;\nthe rather, that I well knew what you had in pickle for me to-morrow. But\nI am not so easily caught napping.\"\n\n\"Before I die,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, in a failing voice, \"I will\nunmask you.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, you will not,\" said Rodin, shaking his head with a knowing air;\n\"I alone, if you please, will receive your last confession.\"\n\n\"Oh! this is horrible,\" moaned Father d'Aigrigny, whose eyes were\nclosing. \"May God have mercy on me, if it is not too late!--Alas! at this\nawful moment, I feel that I have been a great sinner--\"\n\n\"And, above all, a great fool,\" said Rodin, shrugging his shoulders, and\nwatching with cold disdain the dying moments of his accomplice.\n\nFather d'Aigrigny had now but a few minutes more to live. Rodin perceived\nit, and said: \"It is time to call for help.\" And the Jesuit ran, with an\nair of alarm and consternation, into the courtyard of the house.\n\nOthers came at his cries; but, as he had promised, Rodin had only quitted\nFather d'Aigrigny as the latter had breathed his last sigh.\n\nThat evening, alone in his chamber, by the glimmer of a little lamp,\nRodin sat plunged in a sort of ecstatic contemplation, before the print\nrepresenting Sixtus V. The great house-clock struck twelve. At the last\nstroke, Rodin drew himself up in all the savage majesty of his infernal\ntriumph, and exclaimed: \"This is the first of June. There are no more\nRenneponts!--Methinks, I hear the hour from the clock of St. Peter's at\nRome striking!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXVII.\n\nA MESSAGE.\n\nWhile Rodin sat plunged in ambitious reverie, contemplating the portrait\nof Sixtus V., good little Father Caboccini, whose warm embraces had so\nmuch irritated the first mentioned personage, went secretly to Faringhea,\nto deliver to him a fragment of an ivory crucifix, and said to him with\nhis usual air of jovial good-nature: \"His Excellency Cardinal Malipieri,\non my departure from Rome, charged me to give you this only on the 31st\nof May.\"\n\nThe half-caste, who was seldom affected by anything, started abruptly,\nalmost with an expression of pain. His face darkened, and bending upon\nthe little father a piercing look, he said to him: \"You were to add\nsomething.\"\n\n\"True,\" replied Father Caboccini; \"the words I was to add are these:\n'There is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.'\"\n\n\"It is well,\" said the other. Heaving a deep sigh, he joined the fragment\nof the ivory crucifix to a piece already in his possession; it fitted\nexactly.\n\nFather Caboccini looked at him with curiosity, for the cardinal had only\ntold him to deliver the ivory fragment to Faringhea, and to repeat the\nabove words. Being somewhat mystified with all this, the reverend father\nsaid to the half-caste: \"What are you going to do with that crucifix?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" said Faringhea, still absorbed in painful thought.\n\n\"Nothing?\" resumed the reverend father, in astonishment. \"What, then, was\nthe use of bringing it so far?\"\n\nWithout satisfying his curiosity, Faringhea replied: \"At what hour to\nmorrow does Father Rodin go to the Rue Saint Francois?\"\n\n\"Very early.\"\n\n\"Before leaving home, he will go to say prayers in the chapel?\"\n\n\"Yes, according to the habit of our reverend fathers.\"\n\n\"You sleep near him?\"\n\n\"Being his socius, I occupy the room next to his.\"\n\n\"It is possible,\" said Faringhea, after a moment's silence, \"that the\nreverend father, full of the great interests which occupy his mind, might\nforget to go to the chapel. In that case, pray remind him of this pious\nduty.\"\n\n\"I shall not fail.\"\n\n\"Pray do not fail,\" repeated Faringhea, anxiously.\n\n\"Be satisfied,\" said the good little father; \"I see that you take great\ninterest in his salvation.\"\n\n\"Great interest.\"\n\n\"It is very praiseworthy in you. Continue as you have begun, and you may\none day belong, completely to our Company,\" said Father Caboccini,\naffectionately.\n\n\"I am as yet but a poor auxiliary member,\" said Faringhea, humbly; \"but\nno one is more devoted to the Society, body and soul. Bowanee is nothing\nto it.\"\n\n\"Bowanee! who is that, my good friend?\"\n\n\"Bowanee makes corpses which rot in the ground. The Society makes corpses\nwhich walk about.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes! Perinde ac cadaver--they were the last words of our great\nsaint, Ignatius de Loyola. But who is this Bowanee?\"\n\n\"Bowanee is to the Society what a child is to a man,\" replied the\nAsiatic, with growing excitement. \"Glory to the Company--glory! Were my\nfather its enemy, I would kill my father. The man whose genius inspires\nme most with admiration, respect, and terror--were he its enemy, I would\nkill, in spite of all,\" said the half-caste, with an effort. Then, after\na moment's silence, he looked full in Caboccini's face, and added: \"I say\nthis, that you may report my words to Cardinal Malipieri, and beg him to\nmention them to--\"\n\nFaringhea stopped short. \"To whom should the cardinal mention your\nwords?\" asked Caboccini.\n\n\"He knows,\" replied the half-caste, abruptly. \"Good night!\"\n\n\"Good-night, my friend! I can only approve of your excellent sentiments\nwith regard to our Company. Alas! it is in want of energetic defenders,\nfor there are said to be traitors in its bosom.\"\n\n\"For those,\" said Faringhea, \"we must have no pity.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said the good little father; \"we understand one another.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said the half-caste. \"Do not, at all events, forget to remind\nFather Rodin to go to chapel to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"I will take care of that,\" said Father Caboccini.\n\nThe two men parted. On his return to the house, Caboccini learned that a\ncourier, only arrived that night from Rome, had brought despatches to\nRodin.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXVIII.\n\nTHE FIRST OF JUNE.\n\nThe chapel belonging to the house of the reverend fathers in the Rue de\nVaugirard, was gay and elegant. Large panes of stained glass admitted a\nmysterious light; the altar shone with gold and silver; and at the\nentrance of this little church, in an obscure corner beneath the organ\nloft, was a font for holy water in sculptured marble. It was close to\nthis font, in a dark nook where he could hardly be seen, that Faringhea\nknelt down, early on the 1st of June, as soon indeed as the chapel doors\nwere opened. The half-caste was exceedingly sad. From time to time he\nstarted and sighed, as if agitated by a violent internal struggle. This\nwild, untamable being, possessed with the monomania of evil and\ndestruction, felt, as may be imagined, a profound admiration for Rodin,\nwho exercised over him a kind of magnetic fascination. The half-caste,\nalmost a wild beast in human form, saw something supernatural in the\ninfernal genius of Rodin. And the latter, too sagacious not to have\ndiscovered the savage devotion of this wretch, had made, as we have seen,\ngood use of him, is bringing about the tragical termination of the loves\nof Adrienne and Djalma. But what excited to an incredible degree the\nadmiration of Faringhea, was what he knew of the Society of Jesus. This\nimmense, occult power, which undermined the world by its subterraneous\nramifications, and reached its ends by diabolical means, had inspired the\nhalf-caste with a wild enthusiasm. And if anything in the world surpassed\nhis fanatical admiration for Rodin, it was his blind devotion to the\nCompany of Ignatius de Loyola, which, as he said, could make corpses that\nwalk about. Hid in the shadow of the organ-loft, Faringhea was reflecting\ndeeply on these things, when footsteps were heard, and Rodin entered the\nchapel, accompanied by his socius, the little one-eyed father.\n\nWhether from absence of mind, or that the shadow of the orange-loft\ncompletely concealed the half-caste, Rodin dipped his fingers into the\nfont without perceiving Faringhea, who stood motionless as a statue,\nthough a cold sweat streamed from his brow. The prayer of Rodin was, as\nmay be supposed, short; he was in haste to get to the Rue Saint-Francois.\nAfter kneeling down with Father Caboccini for a few seconds, he rose,\nbowed respectfully to the altar, and returned towards the door, followed\nby his socius. At the moment Rodin approached the font he perceived the\ntall figure of the half-caste standing out from the midst of the dark\nshadow; advancing a little, Faringhea bowed respectfully to Rodin, who\nsaid to him, in a low voice; \"Come to me at two o'clock.\"\n\nSo saying, Rodin stretched forth his hand to dip it into the holy water;\nbut Faringhea spared him the trouble, by offering him the sprinkling\nbrush, which generally stood in the font.\n\nPressing between his dirty fingers the damp hairs of the brush, which the\nhalf-caste held by the handle, Rodin wetted his thumb and forefinger,\nand, according to custom, traced the sign of the cross upon his forehead.\nThen, opening the door of the chapel, he went out, after again repeating\nto Faringhea: \"Come to me at two o'clock.\"\n\nThinking he would also make use of the sprinkling-brush, which,\nFaringhea, still motionless, held with a trembling hand, Father Caboccini\nstretched out his fingers to reach it, when the half-breed, as if\ndetermined to confine his favors to Rodin, hastily withdrew the\ninstrument. Deceived in his expectation, Father Caboccini lost no time in\nfollowing Rodin, whom he was not to leave that day for a single moment,\nand, getting into a hackney-coach with him, set out for the Rue\nSaint-Francois. It is impossible to describe the look which the half\nbreed fixed upon Rodin as the latter quitted the chapel. Left alone in\nthe sacred edifice, Faringhea sank upon the stones, half kneeling, half\ncrouching, with his face buried in his hands. As the coach drew near the\nquarter of the Marais, in which was situated the house of Marius de\nRennepont, a feverish agitation, and the devouring impatience of triumph,\nwere visible on the countenance of Rodin. Two or three times he opened\nhis pocketbook, and read and arranged the different certificates of death\nof the various members of the Rennepont family; and from time to time he\nthrust his head anxiously from the coach-window, as if he had wished to\nhasten the slow progress of the vehicle.\n\nThe good little father, his socius, did not take his eye off Rodin, and\nhis look had a strange and crafty expression. At last the coach entered\nthe Rue Saint-Francois, and stopped before the iron-studded door of the\nold house, which had been closed for a century and a half. Rodin sprang\nfrom the coach with the agility of a young man, and knocked violently at\nthe door, whilst Father Caboccini, less light of foot, descended more\nprudently to the ground. No answer was returned to the loud knocking of\nRodin. Trembling with anxiety, he knocked again. This time, as he\nlistened attentively, he heard slow steps approaching. They stopped at\nsome distance from the door, which was not yet opened.\n\n\"It is keeping one upon red-hot coals,\" said Rodin, for he felt as if\nthere was a burning fire in his chest. He again shook the door violently,\nand began to gnaw his nails according to his custom.\n\nSuddenly the door opened, and Samuel, the Jew guardian, appeared beneath\nthe porch. The countenance of the old man expressed bitter grief. Upon\nhis venerable cheeks were the traces of recent tears, which he strove to\ndry with his trembling hands, as he opened the door to Rodin.\n\n\"Who are you, gentlemen?\" said Samuel.\n\n\"I am the bearer of a power of attorney from the Abbe Gabriel, the only\nliving representative of the Rennepont family,\" answered Rodin, hastily.\n\"This gentleman is my secretary,\" added he, pointing to Father Caboccini,\nwho bowed.\n\nAfter looking attentively at Rodin, Samuel resumed: \"I recognize you,\nsir. Please to follow me.\" And the old guardian advanced towards the\nhouse in the garden, making a sign to the two reverend fathers to follow.\n\n\"That confounded old man kept me so long at the door,\" said Rodin to his\nsocius, \"that I think I have caught a cold in consequence. My lips and\nthroat are dried up, like parchment baked at the fire.\"\n\n\"Will you not take something, my dear, good father? Suppose you were to\nask this man for a glass of water,\" cried the little one-eyed priest,\nwith tender solicitude.\n\n\"No, no,\" answered Rodin; \"it is nothing. I am devoured by impatience.\nThat is all.\"\n\nPale and desolate, Bathsheba, the wife of Samuel, was standing at the\ndoor of the apartment she occupied with her husband, in the building next\nthe street. As the Jew passed before her, he said, in Hebrew: \"The\ncurtains of the Hall of Mourning?\"\n\n\"Are closed.\"\n\n\"And the iron casket?\"\n\n\"Is prepared,\" answered Bathsheba, also in Hebrew.\n\nAfter pronouncing these words, completely unintelligible to Rodin and\nCaboccini, Samuel and Bathsheba exchanged a bitter smile, notwithstanding\nthe despair impressed on their countenances.\n\nAscending the steps, followed by the two reverend fathers, Samuel entered\nthe vestibule of the house, in which a lamp was burning. Endowed with an\nexcellent local memory, Rodin was about to take the direction of the Red\nSaloon, in which had been held the first convocation of the heirs, when\nSamuel stopped him, and said: \"It is not that way.\"\n\nThen, taking the lamp, he advanced towards a dark staircase, for the\nwindows of the house had not been un-bricked.\n\n\"But,\" said Rodin, \"the last time, we met in a saloon on the ground\nfloor.\"\n\n\"To-day, we must go higher,\" answered Samuel, as he began slowly to ascend\nthe stairs.\n\n\"Where to? higher!\" said Rodin, following him.\n\n\"To the Hall of Mourning,\" replied the Jew, and he continued to ascend.\n\n\"What is the Hall of Mourning?\" resumed Rodin, in some surprise.\n\n\"A place of tears and death,\" answered the Israelite; and he kept on\nascending through the darkness, for the little lamp threw but a faint\nlight around.\n\n\"But,\" said Rodin, more and more astonished, and stopping short on the\nstairs, \"why go to this place?\"\n\n\"The money is there,\" answered Samuel, and he went on,\n\n\"Oh? if the money is there, that alters the case,\" replied Rodin; and he\nmade haste to regain the few steps he had lost by stopping.\n\nSamuel continued to ascend, and, at a turn of the staircase, the two\nJesuits could see by the pale light of the little lamp, the profile of\nthe old Israelite, in the space left between the iron balustrade and the\nwall, as he climbed on with difficulty above them. Rodin was struck with\nthe expression of Samuel's countenance. His black eyes, generally so\ncalm, sparkled with ardor. His features, usually impressed with a mixture\nof sorrow, intelligence, and goodness, seemed to grow harsh and stern,\nand his thin lips wore a strange smile.\n\n\"It is not so very high,\" whispered Rodin to Caboccini, \"and yet my legs\nache, and I am quite out of breath. There is a strange throbbing too in\nmy temples.\"\n\nIn fact, Rodin breathed hard, and with difficulty. To this confidential\ncommunication, good little Father Caboccini, in general so full of tender\ncare for his colleague, made no answer. He seemed to be in deep thought.\n\n\"Will we soon be there?\" said Rodin, impatiently, to Samuel.\n\n\"We are there,\" replied the Israelite.\n\n\"And a good thing too,\" said Rodin.\n\n\"Very good,\" said the Jew.\n\nStopping in the midst of a corridor, he pointed with the hand in which he\nheld the lamp to a large door from which streamed a faint light. In\nspite of his growing surprise. Rodin entered resolutely, followed by\nFather Caboccini and Samuel. The apartment in which these three\npersonage, now found themselves was very large. The daylight only\nentered from a belvedere in the roof, the four sides of which had been\ncovered with leaden plates, each of which was pierced with seven holes,\nforming a cross, thus:\n\n             *\n           * * *\n             *\n             *\n             *\n\nNow, the light being only admitted through these holes, the obscurity\nwould have been complete, had it not been for a lamp, which burned on a\nlarge massive slab of black marble, fixed against one of the walls. One\nwould have taken it for a funeral chamber, for it was all hung with black\ncurtains, fringed with white. There was no furniture, save the slab of\nblack marble we have already mentioned. On this slab was an iron casket,\nof the manufacture of the seventeenth century, admirably adorned with\nopen work, like lace made of metal.\n\nAddressing Rodin, who was wiping his forehead with his dirty\nhandkerchief, and looking round him with surprise, but not fear, Samuel\nsaid to him: \"The will of the testator, however strange it may appear, is\nsacred with me, and must be accomplished in all things.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Rodin; \"but what are we to do here?\"\n\n\"You will know presently, sir. You are the representative of the only\nremaining heir of the Rennepont family, the Abbe Gabriel de Rennepont?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, and here are my papers,\" replied Rodin.\n\n\"To save time,\" resumed Samuel, \"I will, previous to the arrival of the\nmagistrate, go through the inventory of the securities contained in this\ncasket, which I withdrew yesterday from the custody of the Bank of\nFrance.\"\n\n\"The securities are there?\" cried Rodin, advancing eagerly towards the\ncasket.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" replied Samuel, \"as by the list. Your secretary will call\nthem over, and I will produce each in turn. They can then be replaced in\nthe casket, which I will deliver up to you in presence of the\nmagistrate.\"\n\n\"All this seems perfectly correct,\" said Rodin.\n\nSamuel delivered the list to Father Caboccini, and approaching the\ncasket, touched a spring, which was not seen by Rodin. The heavy lid flew\nopen, and, while Father Caboccini read the names of the different\nsecurities, Samuel showed them to Rodin, who returned them to the old\nJew, after a careful examination. This verification did not last long,\nfor this immense fortune was all comprised, as we already know, in eight\ngovernment securities, five hundred thousand francs in bank-note, thirty\nfive thousand francs in gold, and two hundred and fifty francs in\nsilver--making in all an amount of two hundred and twelve millions, one\nhundred and seventy-five thousand francs. When Rodin had counted the last\nof the five hundred bank-notes, of a thousand francs each, he said, as he\nreturned them to Samuel: \"It is quite right. Two hundred and twelve\nmillions, one hundred and seventy-five thousand francs!\"\n\nHe was no doubt almost choked with joy, for he breathed with difficulty,\nhis eyes closed, and he was obliged to lean upon Father Caboccini's arm,\nas he said to him in an altered voice: \"It is singular. I thought myself\nproof against all such emotions; but what I feel is extraordinary.\"\n\nThe natural paleness of the Jesuit increased so much, and he seemed so\nmuch agitated with convulsive movements, that Father Caboccini exclaimed:\n\"My dear father, collect yourself; do not let success overcome you thus.\"\n\nWhilst the little one-eyed man was, attending to Rodin, Samuel carefully\nreplaced the securities in the iron casket. Thanks to his unconquerable\nenergy, and to the joy he felt at seeing himself so near the term of his\nlabors, Rodin mastered this attack of weakness, and drawing himself up,\ncalm and proud, he said to Caboccini: \"It is nothing. I did not survive\nthe cholera to die of joy on the first of June.\"\n\nAnd, though still frightfully pale, the countenance of the Jesuit shone\nwith audacious confidence. But now, when Rodin appeared to be quite\nrecovered, Father Caboccini seemed suddenly transformed. Though short,\nfat, and one-eyed, his features assumed on the instant so firm, harsh,\nand commanding an expression, that Rodin recoiled a step as he looked at\nhim. Then Father Caboccini, drawing a paper from his pocket, kissed it\nrespectfully, glanced sternly at Rodin, and read as follows, in a severe\nand menacing tone:\n\n\"'On receipt of the present rescript, the Reverend Father Rodin will\ndeliver up all his powers to the Reverend Father Caboccini, who is alone\ncommissioned, with the Reverend Father d'Aigrigny, to receive the\ninheritance of the Rennepont family, if, in His eternal justice, the Lord\nshould restore this property, of which our Company has been wronged.\n\n\"'Moreover, on receipt of the present rescript, the Reverend Father\nRodin, in charge of a person to be named by the Reverend Father\nCaboccini, shall be conveyed to our house in the Town of Laval, to be\nkept in strict seclusion in his cell until further orders.'\"\n\nThen Father Caboccini handed the rescript to Rodin, that the latter might\nread the signature of the General of the Company. Samuel, greatly\ninterested by this scene, drew a few steps nearer, leaving the casket\nhalf-open. Suddenly, Rodin burst into a loud laugh--a laugh of joy,\ncontempt and triumph, impossible to describe. Father Caboccini looked at\nhim with angry astonishment; when Rodin, growing still more imperious and\nhaughty, and with an air of more sovereign disdain than ever, pushed\naside the paper with the back of his dirty hand and said: \"What is the\ndate of that scribble?\"\n\n\"The eleventh of May,\" answered Father Caboccini in amazement.\n\n\"Here is a brief, that I received last night from Rome, under date of the\neighteenth. It informs me that I am appointed GENERAL OF THE ORDER.\nRead!\"\n\nFather Caboccini took the paper, read it, and remained thunderstruck.\nThen, returning it humbly to Rodin, he respectfully bent his knee before\nhim. Thus seemed the ambitious views of Rodin accomplished. In spite of\nthe hatred and suspicion of that party, of which Cardinal Malipieri was\nthe representative and the chief, Rodin, by address and craft, audacity\nand persuasion, and in consequence of the high esteem in which his\npartisans at Rome held his rare capacity, had succeeded in deposing his\nGeneral, and in procuring his own elevation to that eminent post. Now,\naccording to his calculation, aided by the millions he was about to\npossess, it would be but one step from that post to the pontifical\nthrone. A mute witness of this scene, Samuel smiled also with an air of\ntriumph, as he closed the casket by means of the spring known only to\nhimself. That metallic sound recalled Rodin from the heights of his mad\nambition to the realities of life, and he said to Samuel in a sharp\nvoice: \"You have heard? These millions must be delivered to me alone.\"\n\nHe extended his hands eagerly and impatiently towards the casket, as if\nhe would have taken possession of it, before the arrival of the\nmagistrate. Then Samuel in his turn seemed transfigured, and, folding his\narms upon his breast, and drawing up his aged form to its full height, he\nassumed a threatening and imposing air. His eyes flashed with\nindignation, and he said in a solemn tone: \"This fortune--at first the\nhumble remains of the inheritance of the most noble of men, whom the\nplots of the sons of Loyola drove to suicide--this fortune, which has\nsince become royal in amount, thanks to the sacred probity of three\ngenerations of faithful servants--this fortune shall never be the reward\nof falsehood, hypocrisy and murder. No! the eternal justice of heaven\nwill not allow it.\"\n\n\"On murder? what do you mean, sir?\" asked Rodin, boldly.\n\nSamuel made no answer. He stamped his foot, and extended his arm slowly\ntowards the extremity of the apartment. Then Rodin and Father Caboccini\nbeheld an awful spectacle. The draperies on the wall were drawn aside, as\nif by an invisible hand. Round a funeral vault, faintly illumined-by the\nbluish light of a silver lamp, six dead bodies were ranged upon black\nbiers, dressed in long black robes. They were: Jacques Rennepont\n--Francois Hardy--Rose and Blanche Simon--Adrienne and Djalma. They\nappeared to be asleep. Their eyelids were closed, their hands crossed\nover their breasts. Father Caboccini, trembling in every limb, made the\nsign of the cross, and retreating to the opposite wall, buried his face\nin his hands. Rodin on the contrary, with agitated countenance, staring\neyes, and hair standing on end, yielding to an invincible attraction,\nadvanced towards those inanimate forms. One would have said that these\nlast of the Renneponts had only just expired. They seemed to be in the\nfirst hour of the eternal sleep.[44]\n\n\"Behold those whom thou host slain!\" cried Samuel, in a voice broken with\nsobs. \"Yea! your detestable plots caused their death--and, as they fell\none by one, it was my pious care to obtain possession of their poor\nremains, that they may all repose in the same sepulchre.\nOh!--cursed--cursed--cursed--be thou who has killed them! But their\nspoils shall escape thy murderous hands.\"\n\nRodin, still drawn forward in spite of himself, had approached the\nfuneral couch of Djalma. Surmounting his first alarm, the Jesuit, to\nassure himself that he was not the sport of frightful dream, ventured to\ntouch the hands of the Asiatic--and found that they were damp and pliant,\nthough cold as ice.\n\nThe Jesuit drew back in horror. For some seconds, he trembled\nconvulsively. But, his first amazement over, reflection returned, and,\nwith reflection came that invincible energy, that infernal obstinacy of\ncharacter, that gave him so much power. Steadying himself on his legs,\ndrawing his hand across his brow, raising his head, moistening his lips\ntwo or three times before he spoke--for his throat and mouth grew ever\ndrier and hotter, without his being able to explain the cause--he\nsucceeded in giving to his features an imperious and ironical expression,\nand, turning towards Samuel, who wept in silence, he said to him, in a\nhoarse, guttural voice: \"I need not show you the certificates of their\ndeath. There they are in person.\" And he pointed with his bony hand to\nthe six dead bodies.\n\nAt these words of his General, Father Caboccini again made the sign of\nthe cross, as if he had seen a fiend.\n\n\"Oh, my God!\" cried Samuel; \"Thou hast quite abandoned this man. With\nwhat a calm look he contemplates his victims!\"\n\n\"Come, sir!\" said Rodin, with a horrid smile; \"this is a natural waxwork\nexhibition, that is all. My calmness proves my innocence--and we had best\ncome at once to business. I have an appointment at two o'clock. So let us\ncarry down this casket.\"\n\nHe advanced towards the marble slab. Seized with indignation and horror,\nSamuel threw himself before him, and, pressing with all his might on a\nknob in the lid of the casket--a knob which yielded to the pressure--he\nexclaimed: \"Since your infernal soul is incapable of remorse, it may\nperhaps be shaken by disappointed avarice.\"\n\n\"What does he say?\" cried Rodin. \"What is he doing?\"\n\n\"Look!\" said Samuel, in his turn assuming an air of savage triumph. \"I\ntold you, that the spoils of your victims should escape your murderous\nhands.\"\n\nHardly had he uttered these words, before through the open-work of the\niron casket rose a light cloud of smoke, and an odor as of burnt paper\nspread itself through the room. Rodin understood it instantly. \"Fire!\" he\nexclaimed, as he rushed forward to seize the casket. It had been made\nfast to the heavy marble slab.\n\n\"Yes, fire,\" said Samuel. \"In a few minutes, of that immense treasure\nthere will remain nothing but ashes. And better so, than that it should\nbelong to you or yours. This treasure is not mine, and it only remains\nfor me to destroy it--since Gabriel de Rennepont will be faithful to the\noath he has taken.\"\n\n\"Help! water! water!\" cried Rodin, as he covered the casket with his\nbody, trying in vain to extinguish the flames, which, fanned by the\ncurrent of air, now issued from the thousand apertures in the lid; but\nsoon the intensity of the fire diminished, a few threads of bluish smoke\nalone mounted upwards--and then, all was extinct.\n\nThe work was done! Breathless and faint, Rodin leaned against the marble\nslab. For the first time in his life, he wept; large tears of rage rolled\ndown his cadaverous cheeks. But suddenly, dreadful pains, at first dull,\nbut gradually augmenting in intensity, seized on him with so much fury,\nthough he employed all his energy to struggle against them, that he fell\non his knees, and, pressing his two hands to his chest, murmured with an\nattempt to smile: \"It is nothing. Do not be alarmed. A few spasms--that\nis all. The treasure is destroyed--but I remain General of the Order. Oh!\nI suffer. What a furnace!\" he added, writhing in agony. \"Since I entered\nthis cursed house, I know not what ails me. If--I had not lived on\nroots--water--bread--which I go myself to buy--I should think--I was\npoisoned--for I triumph--and Cardinal Malipieri has long arms. Yes--I\nstill triumph--for I will not die--this time no more than the other--I\nwill not die!\"\n\nThen, as he stretched out his arms convulsively, he continued: \"It is\nfire that devours my entrails. No doubt, they have tried to poison me.\nBut when? but how?\"\n\nAfter another pause, Rodin again cried out, in a stifled voice: \"Help!\nhelp me, you that stand looking on--like, spectres!--Help me, I say!\"\n\nHorror-struck at this dreadful agony, Samuel and Father Caboccini were\nunable to stir.\n\n\"Help!\" repeated Rodin, in a tone of strangulation, \"This poison is\nhorrible.--But how--\" Then, with a terrific cry of rage, as if a sudden\nidea had struck him, he exclaimed: \"Ha! Faringhea--this morning--the holy\nwater--he knows such subtle poisons. Yes--it is he--he had an interview\nwith Malipieri. The demon!--Oh! it was well played. The Borgias are still\nthe same. Oh! it is all over. I die. They will regret me, the fools!--Oh!\nhell! hell! The Church knows not its loss--but I burn--help!\"\n\nThey came to his assistance. Quick steps were heard upon the stairs, and\nDr. Baleinier, followed by the Princess de Saint-Dizier, appeared at the\nentrance of the Hall of Mourning. The princess had learned vaguely that\nmorning the death of Father d'Aigrigny, and had come to question Rodin\nupon the subject. When this woman, entering the room, suddenly saw the\nfrightful spectacle that offered itself to her view--when she saw Rodin\nwrithing in horrible agony, and, further on, by the light of the\nsepulchral lamp, those six corpses--and, amongst them, her own niece, and\nthe two orphans whom she had sent to meet their death--she stood\npetrified with horror, and her reason was unable to withstand the shock.\nShe looked slowly round her, and then raised her arms on high, and burst\ninto a wild fit of laughter. She had gone mad. Whilst Dr. Baleinier\nsupported the head of Rodin, who expired in his arms, Faringhea appeared\nat the door; remaining in the shade, he cast a ferocious glance at the\ncorpse of the Jesuit. \"He would have made himself the chief of the\nCompany of Jesus, to destroy it,\" said he; \"with me, the Company of Jesus\nstands in the place of Bowanee. I have obeyed the cardinal!\"\n\n[44] Should this appear incredible, we would remind the reader of the\nmarvellous discoveries in the art of embalming--particularly Dr.\nGannal's.\n\n\n\n\nEPILOGUE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nFOUR YEARS AFTER.\n\nFour years had elapsed, since the events we have just related, when\nGabriel de Rennepont wrote the following letter to Abbe Joseph\nCharpentier, curate of the Parish of Saint-Aubin, a hamlet of Sologne:\n\n\"Springwater Farm,\n\"June 2d, 1836.\n\n\"Intending to write to you yesterday, my bear Joseph, I seated myself at\nthe little old black table, that you will remember well. My window looks,\nyou know, upon the farmyard, and I can see all that takes place there.\nThese are grave preliminaries, my friend, but I am coming to the point. I\nhad just taken my seat at the table, when, looking from the window, this\nis what I saw. You, my dear Joseph, who can draw so well, should have\nbeen there to have sketched the charming scene. The sun was sinking, the\nsky serene, the air warm and balmy with the breath of the hawthorn,\nwhich, flowering by the side of a little rivulet, forms the edge which\nborders the yard. Under the large pear-tree, close to the wall of the\nbarn, sat upon the stone bench my adopted father, Dagobert, that brave\nand honest soldier whom you love so much. He appeared thoughtful, his\nwhite head was bowed on his bosom; with absent mind, he patted old\nSpoil-sport, whose intelligent face was resting on his master's knees. By\nhis side was his wife, my dear adopted mother, occupied with her sewing;\nand near them, on a stool, sat Angela, the wife of Agricola, nursing her\nlast-born child, while the gentle Magdalen, with the eldest boy in her\nlap, was occupied in teaching him the letters of the alphabet. Agricola\nhad just returned from the fields, and was beginning to unyoke his\ncattle, when, struck, like me, no doubt, with this picture, he stood\ngazing on it for a moment, with his hand still leaning on the yoke,\nbeneath which bent submissive the broad foreheads of his two large black\noxen. I cannot express to you, my friend, the enchanting repose of this\npicture, lighted by the last rays of the sun, here and there broken by\nthe thick foliage. What various and touching types! The venerable face of\nthe soldier--the good, loving countenance of my adopted mother--the fresh\nbeauty of Angela, smiling on her little child--the soft melancholy of the\nhunchback, now and then pressing her lips to the fair, laughing cheek of\nAgricola's eldest son--and then Agricola himself, in his manly beauty,\nwhich seems to reflect so well the valor and honesty of his heart! Oh, my\nFriend! in contemplating this assemblage of good, devoted, noble, and\nloving beings, so dear to each other, living retired in a little farm of\nour poor Sologne, my heart rose towards heaven with a feeling of\nineffable gratitude. This peace of the family circle--this clear evening,\nwith the perfume of the woods and wild flowers wafted on the breeze--this\ndeep silence, only broken by the murmur of the neighboring rill--all\naffected me with one of these passing fits of vague and sweet emotion,\nwhich one feels but cannot express. You well know it, my friend, who, in\nyour solitary walks, in the midst of your immense plains of flowering\nheath, surrounded by forests of fir trees, often feel your eyes grow\nmoist, without being able to explain the cause of that sweet melancholy,\nwhich I, too, have often felt, during those glorious nights passed in the\nprofound solitudes of America.\n\n\"But, alas! a painful incident disturbed the serenity of the picture.\nSuddenly I heard Dagobert's wife say to him: 'My dear--you are weeping!'\n\n\"At these words, Agricola, Angela, and Magdalen gathered round the\nsoldier. Anxiety was visible upon every face. Then, as he raised his head\nabruptly, one could see two large tears trickle down his cheek to his\nwhite moustache. 'It is nothing, my children,' said he, in a voice of\nemotion 'it is nothing. Only, to-day is the first of June--and this day\nfour years--' He could not complete the sentence; and, as he raised his\nhands to his eyes, to brush away the tears, we saw that he held between\nhis fingers a little bronze chain, with a medal suspended to it. That is\nhis dearest relic. Four years ago, almost dying with despair at the loss\nof the two angels, of whom I have so often spoken to you, my friend, he\ntook from the neck of Marshal Simon, brought home dead from a fatal duel,\nthis chain and medal which his children had so long worn. I went down\ninstantly, as you may suppose, to endeavor to soothe the painful\nremembrances of this excellent man; gradually, he grew calmer, and the\nevening was passed in a pious and quiet sadness.\n\n\"You cannot imagine, my friend, when I returned to my chamber, what cruel\nthoughts came to my mind, as I recalled those past events, from which I\ngenerally turn away with fear and horror. Then I saw once more the\nvictims of those terrible and mysterious plots, the awful depths of which\nhave never been penetrated thanks to the death of Father d'A. and Father\nR., and the incurable madness of Madame de St.-D., the three authors or\naccomplices of the dreadful deeds. The calamities occasioned by them are\nirreparable; for those who were thus sacrificed to a criminal ambition,\nwould have been the pride of humanity by the good they would have done.\nAh, my friend! if you had known those noble hearts; if you had known the\nprojects of splendid charity, formed by that young lady, whose heart was\nso generous, whose mind so elevated, whose soul so great! On the eve of\nher death, as a kind of prelude to her magnificent designs, after a\nconversation, the subject of which I must keep secret, even from you, she\nput into my hands a considerable sum, saying, with her usual grace and\ngoodness: 'I have been threatened with ruin, and it might perhaps come.\nWhat I now confide to you will at least be safe--safe--for those who\nsuffer. Give much--give freely--make as many happy hearts as you can. My\nhappiness shall have a royal inauguration!!' I do not know whether I ever\ntold you, my friend, that, after those fatal events, seeing Dagobert and\nhis wife reduced to misery, poor 'Mother Bunch' hardly able to earn a\nwretched subsistence, Agricola soon to become a father, and myself\ndeprived of my curacy, and suspended by my bishop, for having given\nreligious consolations to a Protestant, and offered up prayers at the\ntomb of an unfortunate suicide--I considered myself justified in\nemploying a small portion of the sum intrusted to me by Mdlle. de\nCardoville in the purchase of this farm in Dagobert's name.\n\n\"Yes, my friend, such is the origin of my fortune. The farmer to whom\nthese few acres formerly belonged, gave us the rudiments of our\nagricultural education, and common sense, and the study of a few good\npractical books, completed it. From an excellent workman, Agricola has\nbecome an equally excellent husbandman; I have tried to imitate him, and\nhave put my hand also to the plough there is no derogation in it, for the\nlabor which provides food for man is thrice hallowed, and it is truly to\nserve and glorify God, to cultivate and enrich the earth He has created.\nDagobert, when his first grief was a little appeased, seemed to gather\nnew vigor from this healthy life of the fields; and, during his exile in\nSiberia, he had already learned to till the ground. Finally, my dear\nadopted mother and sister, and Agricola's good wife, have divided between\nthem the household cares; and God has blessed this little colony of\npeople, who, alas! have been sorely tried by misfortune, and who now only\nask of toil and solitude, a quite, laborious, innocent life, and oblivion\nof great sorrows. Sometimes, in our winter evenings, you have been able\nto appreciate the delicate and charming mind of the gentle 'Mother\nBunch,' the rare poetical imagination of Agricola, the tenderness of his\nmother, the good sense of his father, the exquisite natural grace of\nAngela. Tell me, my friend, was it possible to unite more elements of\ndomestic happiness? What long evenings have we passed round the fire of\ncrackling wood, reading, or commenting on a few immortal works, which\nalways warm the heart, and enlarge the soul! What sweet talk have we had,\nprolonged far into the night! And then Agricola's pastorals, and the\ntimid literary confidences of Magdalen! And the fresh, clear voice of\nAngela, joined to the deep manly tones of Agricola, in songs of simple\nmelody! And the old stories of Dagobert, so energetic and picturesque in\ntheir warlike spirit! And the adorable gayety of the children, in their\nsports with good old Spoil-sport, who rather lends himself to their play\nthan takes part in it--for the faithful, intelligent creature seems\nalways to be looking for somebody, as Dagobert says--and he is right.\nYes, the dog also regrets those two angels, of whom he was the devoted\nguardian!\n\n\"Do not think, my friend, that our happiness makes us forgetful. No, no;\nnot a day passes without our repeating, with pious and tender respect,\nthose names so dear to our heart. And these painful memories, hovering\nforever about us, give to our calm and happy existence that shade of mild\nseriousness which struck you so much. No doubt, my friend, this kind of\nlife, bounded by the family circle, and not extending beyond, for the\nhappiness or improvement of our brethren, may be set down as selfish;\nbut, alas! we have not the means--and though the poor man always finds a\nplace at our frugal table, and shelter beneath our roof, we must renounce\nall great projects of fraternal action. The little revenue of our farm\njust suffices to supply our wants. Alas! when I think over it,\nnotwithstanding a momentary regret, I cannot blame my resolution to keep\nfaithfully my sacred oath, and to renounce that great inheritance, which,\nalas! had become immense by the death of my kindred. Yes, I believe I\nperformed a duty, when I begged the guardian of that treasure to reduce\nit to ashes, rather than let it fall into the hands of people, who would\nhave made an execrable use of it, or to perjure myself by disputing a\ndonation which I had granted freely, voluntarily, sincerely. And yet,\nwhen I picture to myself the realization of the magnificent views of--my\nancestor--an admirable Utopia, only possible with immense resources--and\nwhich Mdlle. de Cardoville hoped to carry into execution, with the aid of\nM. Francois Hardy, of Prince Djalma, of Marshal Simon and his daughters,\nand of myself--when I think of the dazzling focus of living forces, which\nsuch an association would have been, and of the immense influence it\nmight have had on the happiness of the whole human race--my indignation\nand horror, as an honest man and a Christian, are excited against that\nabominable Company, whose black plots nipped in their bud all those great\nhopes, which promised so much for futurity. What remains now of all these\nsplendid projects? Seven tombs. For my grave also is dug in that\nmausoleum, which Samuel has erected on the site of the house in the Rue\nNeuve-Saint-Francois, and of which he remains the keeper--faithful to the\nend!\n\n\"I had written thus far, my friend, when I received your letter. So,\nafter having forbidden you to see me, your bishop now orders that you\nshall cease to correspond with me. Your touching, painful regrets have\ndeeply moved me, my friend. Often have we talked together of\necclesiastical discipline, and of the absolute power of the bishops over,\nus, the poor working clergy, left to their mercy without remedy. It is\npainful, but it is the law of the church, my friend, and you have sworn\nto observe it. Submit as I have submitted. Every engagement is binding\nupon the man of honor! My poor, dear Joseph! would that you had the\ncompensations which remained to me, after the rupture of ties that I so\nmuch value. But I know too well what you must feel--I cannot go on I find\nit impossible to continue this letter, I might be bitter against those\nwhose orders we are bound to respect. Since it must be so, this letter\nshall be my last. Farewell, my friend! farewell forever. My heart is\nalmost broken.\n\n\"GABRIEL DE RENNEPONT.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE REDEMPTION.\n\nDay was about to dawn. A rosy light, almost imperceptible, began to\nglimmer in the east; but the stars still shone, sparkling with radiance,\nupon the azure of the zenith. The birds awoke beneath the fresh foliage\nof the great woods; and, with isolated warblings, sang the prelude of\ntheir morning-concert. A light mist rose from the high grass, bathed in\nnocturnal dew, while the calm and limpid waters of a vast lake reflected\nthe whitening dawn in their deep, blue mirror. Everything promised one of\nthose warm and joyous days, that belong to the opening of summer.\n\nHalf-way up the slope of a hill, facing the east, a tuft of old, moss\ngrown willows, whose rugged bark disappeared beneath the climbing\nbranches of wild honeysuckle and harebells, formed a natural harbor; and\non their gnarled and enormous roots, covered with thick moss, were seated\na man and a woman, whose white hair, deep wrinkles, and bending figures,\nannounced extreme old age. And yet this woman had only lately been young\nand beautiful, with long black hair overshadowing her pale forehead. And\nyet this man had, a short time ago, been still in the vigor of his age.\nFrom the spot where this man and woman were reposing, could be seen the\nvalley, the lake, the woods, and, soaring above the woods, the blue\nsummit of a high mountain, from behind which the sun was about to rise.\nThis picture, half veiled by the pale transparency of the morning\ntwilight, was pleasing, melancholy, and solemn.\n\n\"Oh, my sister!\" said the old man to the woman, who was reposing with him\nbeneath the rustic arbor formed by the tuft of willow-trees; \"oh, my\nsister! how many times during the centuries in which the hand of the Lord\ncarried us onward, and, separated from each other, we traversed the world\nfrom pole to pole--how many times we have witnessed this awakening of\nnature with a sentiment of incurable grief!--Alas! it was but another day\nof wandering--another useless day added to our life, since it brought\ndeath no nearer!\"\n\n\"But now what happiness, oh, my brother! since the Lord has had mercy on\nus, and, with us, as with all other creatures, every returning day is a\nstep nearer to the grave. Glory to Him! yes, glory!\"\n\n\"Glory to Him, my sister! for since yesterday, when we again met, I feel\nthat indescribable languor which announces the approach of death.\"\n\n\"Like you, my brother, I feel my strength, already shaken, passing away\nin a sweet exhaustion. Doubtless, the term of our life approaches. The\nwrath of the Lord is satisfied.\"\n\n\"Alas, my sister! doubtless also, the last of my doomed race, will, at\nthe same time, complete our redemption by his death; for the will of\nheaven is manifest, that I can only be pardoned, when the last of my\nfamily shall have disappeared from the face of the earth. To him, holiest\namongst the holiest--was reserved the favor of accomplishing this end he\nwho has done so much for the salvation of his brethren!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, my brother! he who has suffered so much, and without\ncomplaining, drunk to the dregs the bitter cup of woe--he, the minister\nof the Lord, who has been his Master's image upon earth--he was fitted\nfor the last instrument of this redemption!\"\n\n\"Yes, for I feel, my sister, that, at this hour, the last of my race,\ntouching victim of slow persecution, is on the point of resigning his\nangelic soul to God. Thus, even to the end, have I been fatal to my\ndoomed family. Lord, if Thy mercy is great, Thy anger is great likewise!\"\n\n\"Courage and hope, my brother! Think how after the expiration cometh\npardon, and pardon is followed by a blessing. The Lord punished, in you\nand your posterity, the artisan rendered wicked by misfortune and\ninjustice. He said to you: 'Go on! without truce or rest--and your labor\nshall be vain--and every evening, throwing yourself on the hard ground,\nyou shall be no nearer to the end of your eternal course!'--And so, for\ncenturies, men without pity have said to the artisan: 'Work! work! work!\nwithout truce or rest--and your labor shall be fruitful for all others,\nbut fruitless for yourself--and every evening, throwing yourself on the\nhard ground, you shall be no nearer to happiness and repose; and your\nwages shall only suffice to keep you alive in pain, privation, and\npoverty!'\"\n\n\"Alas! alas! will it be always thus?\"\n\n\"No, no, my brother! and instead of weeping over your lost race, rejoice\nfor them--since their death was needed for your redemption, and in\nredeeming you, heaven will redeem the artisan, cursed and feared by\nthose--who have laid on him the iron yoke. Yes, my brother! the time\ndraweth nigh--heaven's mercy will not stop with us alone. Yes, I tell\nyou; in us will be rescued both the WOMAN and the SLAVE of these modern\nages. The trial has been hard, brother; it has lasted throughout eighteen\ncenturies; but it will last no longer. Look, my brother! see that rosy\nlight, there in the east, gradually spreading over the firmament! Thus\nwill rise the sun of the new emancipation--peaceful, holy, great,\nsalutary, fruitful, filling the world with light and vivifying heat, like\nthe day-star that will soon appear in heaven!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, my sister! I feel it. Your words are prophetic. We shall close\nour heavy eyes just as we see the aurora of the day of deliverance--a\nfair, a splendid day, like that which is about to dawn. Henceforth I will\nonly shed tears of pride and glory for those of my race, who have died\nthe martyrs of humanity, sacrificed by humanity's eternal enemies--for\nthe true ancestors of the sacrilegious wretches, who blaspheme the name\nof Jesus by giving it to their Company, were the false Scribes and\nPharisees, whom the Saviour cursed!--Yes! glory to the descendants of my\nfamily, who have been the last martyrs offered up by the accomplices of\nall slavery and all despotism, the pitiless enemies of those who wish to\nthink, and not to suffer in silence--of those that would feign enjoy, as\nchildren of heaven, the gifts which the Creator has bestowed upon all the\nhuman family. Yes, the day approaches--the end of the reign of our modern\nPharisees--the false priests, who lend their sacrilegious aid to the\nmerciless selfishness of the strong against the weak, by daring to\nmaintain in the face of the exhaustless treasures of the creation, that\nGod has made man for tears, and sorrow, and suffering--the false priests,\nwho are the agents of all oppression, and would bow to the earth, in\nbrutish and hopeless humiliation, the brow of every creature. No, no! let\nman lift his head proudly! God made him to be noble and intelligent free\nand happy.\"\n\n\"Oh, my brother! your words also are prophetic. Yes, yes! the dawn of\nthat bright day approaches, even as the dawn of the natural day which, by\nthe mercy of God, will be our last on earth.\"\n\n\"The last, my sister; for a strange weakness creeps over me, all matter\nseems dissolving in me, and my soul aspires to mount to heaven.\"\n\n\"Mine eyes are growing dim, brother; I can scarcely see that light in the\neast, which lately appeared so red.\"\n\n\"Sister! it is through a confused vapor that I now see the valley--the\nlake--the woods. My strength fails me.\"\n\n\"Blessed be God, brother! the moment of eternal rest is at hand.\"\n\n\"Yes, it comes, my sister! the sweetness of the everlasting sleep takes\npossession of my senses.\"\n\n\"Oh, happiness! I am dying--\"\n\n\"These eyes are closing, sister!\"\n\n\"We are then forgiven!\"\n\n\"Forgiven!\"\n\n\"Oh, my brother! may this Divine redemption extend to all those who\nsuffer upon the earth!\"\n\n\"Die in peace, my sister! The great day has dawned--the sun is\nrising--behold!\"\n\n\"Blessed be God!\"\n\n\"Blessed be God!\"\n\nAnd at the moment when those two voices ceased forever, the sun rose\nradiant and dazzling, and deluged the valley with its beams.\n\nTo M. C--P--.\n\nTo you, my friend, I dedicated this book. To inscribe it with your name,\nwas to assume an engagement that, in the absence of talent, it should be\nat least conscientious, sincere, and of a salutary influence, however\nlimited. My object is attained. Some select hearts, like yours, my\nfriend, have put into practice the legitimate association of labor,\ncapital, and intelligence, and have already granted to their workmen a\nproportionate share in the profits of their industry. Others have laid\nthe foundations of Common Dwelling-houses, and one of the chief\ncapitalists of Hamburg has favored me with his views respecting an\nestablishment of this kind, on the most gigantic scale.\n\nAs for the dispersion of the members of the Company of Jesus, I have\ntaken less part in it than other enemies of the detestable doctrines of\nLoyola, whose influence and authority were far greater than mine.\n\nAdieu, my friend. I could have wished this work more worthy of you; but\nyou are indulgent, and will at least give me credit for the intentions\nwhich dictated it.\n\nBelieve me, Yours truly,\n\nEUGENE SUE.\n\nParis, 25th August, 1845. Paris, 25th August, 1845.","title":"The Wandering Jew \u2014 Volume 11","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":48274}