The socius, perfectly indifferent to this new order, approached the fireplace, drew himself up to his full height as he turned his arched back, planted himself firmly on his legs, stamped on the carpet with the heel of his clumsy, greasy shoes, crossed his hands beneath the flaps of his old, spotted coat, and, lifting his head, looked fixedly at Father d’Aigrigny.  The socius had not spoken a word, but his hideous countenance, now flushed, suddenly revealed such a sense of his superiority, and such sovereign contempt for Father d’Aigrigny, mingled with so calm and serene a daring, that the reverend father and the princess were quite confounded by it.  They felt themselves overawed by this little old man, so sordid and so ugly.  Father d’Aigrigny knew too well the customs of the Company, to believe his humble secretary capable of assuming so suddenly these airs of transcendent superiority without a motive, or rather, without a positive right.  Late, too late, the reverend father perceived, that this subordinate agent might be partly a spy, partly an experienced assistant, who, according to the constitutions of the Order, had the power and mission to depose and provisionally replace, in certain urgent cases, the incapable person over whom he was stationed as a guard.  The reverend father was not deceived.  From the general to the provincials, and to the rectors of the colleges, all the superior members of the Order have stationed near them, often without their knowledge, and in apparently the lowest capacities, men able to assume their functions at any given moment, and who, with this view, constantly keep up a direct correspondence with Rome.

From the moment Rodin had assumed this position, the manners of Father d’Aigrigny, generally so haughty, underwent a change.  Though it cost him a good deal, he said with hesitation, mingled with deference:  “You have, no doubt, the right to command me—­who hitherto have commanded.”  Rodin, without answering, drew from his well-rubbed and greasy pocket-book a slip of paper, stamped upon both sides, on which were written several lines in Latin.  When he had read it, Father d’Aigrigny pressed this paper respectfully, even religiously, to his lips:  then returned it to Rodin, with a low bow.  When he again raised his head, he was purple with shame and vexation.  Notwithstanding his habits of passive obedience and immutable respect for the will of the Order, he felt a bitter and violent rage at seeing himself thus abruptly deposed from power.  That was not all.  Though, for a long time past, all relations in gallantry had ceased between him and Mme. de Saint-Dizier, the latter was not the less a woman; and for him to suffer this humiliation in presence of a woman was, undoubtedly, cruel, as, notwithstanding his entrance into the Order, he had not wholly laid aside the character of man of the world.  Moreover, the princess, instead of appearing hurt and offended by this sudden transformation of the superior into