“Father,” he resumed, in an agitated voice, whilst his eyes filled with tears, “your words are cruel and unjust.  You know that I am not a coward.”

“No,” said Rodin, in his sharp, cutting voice, addressing Father d’Aigrigny, and pointing to Gabriel with a disdainful look; “your dear son is only prudent.”

These words from Rodin made Gabriel start; a slight blush colored his pale cheeks; his large and blue eyes sparkled with a generous anger; then, faithful to the precepts of Christian humility and resignation, he conquered this irritable impulse, hung down his head, and, too much agitated to reply, remained silent, and brushed away an unseen tear.  This tear did not escape the notice of the socius.  He saw in it no doubt, a favorable symptom, for he exchanged a glance of satisfaction with Father d’Aigrigny.  The latter was about to touch on a question of great interest, so, notwithstanding his self-command, his voice trembled slightly; but encouraged, or rather pushed on by a look from Rodin, who had become extremely attentive, he said to Gabriel:  “Another motive obliges us not to hesitate in releasing you from your vow, my dear son.  It is a question of pure delicacy.  You probably learned yesterday from your adopted mother, that you will perhaps be called upon to take possession of an inheritance, of which the value is unknown.”

Gabriel raised his head hastily and said to Father d’Aigrigny:  “As I have already stated to M. Rodin, my adopted mother only talked of her scruples of conscience, and I was completely ignorant of the existence of the inheritance of which you speak.”

The expression of indifference with which the young priest pronounced these last words, was remarked by Rodin.

“Be it so,” replied Father d’Aigrigny.  “You were not aware of it—­I believe you—­though all appearances would tend to prove the contrary—­to prove, indeed, that the knowledge of this inheritance was not unconnected with your resolution to separate from us.”

“I do not understand you, Father.”

“It is very simple.  Your rupture with us would then have two motives.  First, we are in danger, and you think it prudent to leave us—­”

“Father!”

“Allow me to finish, my dear son, and come to the second motive.  If I am deceived, you can tell me so.  These are the facts.  Formerly, on the hypothesis that your family, of which you knew nothing, might one day leave you some property, you made, in return for the care bestowed on you by the Company, a free gift of all you might hereafter possess, not to us—­but to the poor, of whom we are the born shepherds.”

“Well, father?” asked Gabriel, not seeing to what this preamble tended.

“Well, my dear son—­now that you are sure of enjoying a competence, you wish, no doubt, by separating from us, to annul this donation made under other circumstances.”

“To speak plainly, you violate your oath, because we are persecuted, and because you wish to take back your gifts,” added Rodin, in a sharp voice, as if to describe in the clearest and plainest manner the situation of Gabriel with regard to the Society.