a subaltern, and of the subaltern into a superior, looked at Rodin with a sort of curiosity mingled with interest.  As a woman—­as a woman, intensely ambitious, seeking to connect herself with every powerful influence—­the princess loved this strange species of contrast.  She found it curious and interesting to see this man, almost in rags, mean in appearance, and ignobly ugly, and but lately the most humble of subordinates look down from the height of his superior intelligence upon the nobleman by birth, distinguished for the elegance of his manners, and just before so considerable a personage in the Society.  From that moment, as the more important personage of the two, Rodin completely took the place of Father d’Aigrigny in the princess’s mind.  The first pang of humiliation over, the reverend father, though his pride bled inwardly, applied all his knowledge of the world to behave with redoubled courtesy towards Rodin, who had become his superior by this abrupt change of fortune.  But the ex-socius, incapable of appreciating, or rather of acknowledging, such delicate shades of manner, established himself at once, firmly, imperiously, brutally, in his new position, not from any reaction of offended pride, but from a consciousness of what he was really worth.  A long acquaintance with Father d’Aigrigny had revealed to him the inferiority of the latter.

“You threw away your pen,” said Father d’Aigrigny to Rodin with extreme deference, “while I was dictating a note for Rome.  Will you do me the favor to tell me how I have acted wrong?”

“Directly,” replied Rodin, in his sharp, cutting voice.  “For a long time this affair appeared to me above your strength; but I abstained from interfering.  And yet what mistakes! what poverty of invention; what coarseness in the means employed to bring it to bear!”

“I can hardly understand your reproaches,” answered Father d’Aigrigny, mildly, though a secret bitterness made its way through his apparent submission.  “Was not the success certain, had it not been for this codicil?  Did you not yourself assist in the measures that you now blame?”

“You commanded, then, and it was my duty to obey.  Besides, you were just on the point of succeeding—­not because of the means you had taken—­but in spite of those means, with all their awkward and revolting brutality.”

“Sir—­you are severe,” said Father d’Aigrigny.

“I am just.  One has to be prodigiously clever, truly, to shut up any one in a room, and then lock the door!  And yet, what else have you done?  The daughters of General Simon?—­imprisoned at Leipsic, shut up in a convent at Paris!  Adrienne de Cardoville?—­placed in confinement.  Sleepinbuff—­put in prison.  Djalma?—­quieted by a narcotic.  One only ingenious method, and a thousand times safer, because it acted morally, not materially, was employed to remove M. Hardy.  As for your other proceedings—­they were all bad, uncertain, dangerous.  Why?  Because