“I know it, father,” answered Gabriel, bitterly; “three days after, a poor, submissive, and credulous child, I was already a spy upon my comrades, hearing and remembering their conversation, and reporting it to the superior, who congratulated me on my zeal.  What they thus made me do was shameful, and yet, God knows!  I thought I was accomplishing a charitable duty.  I was happy in obeying the commands of a superior whom I respected, and to whose words I listened, in my childish faith, as I should have listened to those of Heaven.  One day, that I had broken some rule of the house, the superior said to me:  ’My child, you have deserved a severe punishment; but you will be pardoned, if you succeed in surprising one of your comrades in the same fault that you have committed.’  And for that, notwithstanding my faith and blind obedience, this encouragement to turn informer, from the motive of personal interest, might appear odious to me, the superior added.  ’I speak to you, my child, for the sake of your comrade’s salvation.  Were he to escape punishment, his evil habits would become habitual.  But by detecting him in a fault, and exposing him to salutary correction, you will have the double advantage of aiding in his salvation, and escaping yourself a merited punishment, which will have been remitted because of your zeal for your neighbor—­”

“Doubtless,” answered Father d’Aigrigny, more and more terrified by Gabriel’s language; “and in truth, my dear son, all this is conformable to the rule followed in our colleges, and to the habits of the members of our Company, ’who may denounce each other without prejudice to mutual love and charity, and only for their greater spiritual advancement, particularly when questioned by their superior, or commanded for the greater glory of God,’ as our Constitution has it.”

“I know it,” cried Gabriel; “I know it.  ’Tis in the name of all that is most sacred amongst men, that we are encouraged to do evil.”

“My dear son,” said Father d’Aigrigny, trying to conceal his secret and growing terror beneath an appearance of wounded dignity, “from you to me these words are at least strange.”

At this, Rodin quitted the mantelpiece, on which he had been leaning, begin to walk up and down the room, with a meditative air, and without ceasing to bite his nails.

“It is cruel to be obliged to remind you, my dear son, that your are indebted to us for the education you have received,” added Father d’Aigrigny.

“Such were its fruits, father,” replied Gabriel.  “Until then I had been a spy on the other children, from a sort of disinterestedness; but the orders of the superior made me advance another step on that shameful road.  I had become an informer, to escape a merited punishment.  And yet, such was my faith, my humility, my confidence, that I performed with innocence and candor this doubly odious part.  Once, indeed, tormented by vague scruples, the last remains of generous aspirations that they were stifling within me, I asked myself if the charitable and religious end could justify the means, and I communicated my doubts to the superior.  He replied, that I had not to judge, but to obey, and that to him alone belonged the responsibility of my acts.”