“And where is he now?”

“I have only vague information on the subject.  I know that he is in Paris, and do not despair of finding him.  I shall pursue my researches with an almost paternal ardor, for we cannot too much love the rare qualities of that poor king’s son.  What a heart, my dear young lady! what a heart!  Oh, it is a heart of gold, pure and bright as the gold of his country!”

“We must find the prince, sir,” said Adrienne with emotion; “let me entreat you to neglect nothing for that end.  He is my relation—­alone here—­without support—­without assistance.”

“Certainly,” replied Rodin, with commiseration.  “Poor boy!—­for he is almost a boy—­eighteen or nineteen years of age—­thrown into the heart of Paris, of this hell—­with his fresh, ardent, half-savage passions—­with his simplicity and confidence—­to what perils may he not be exposed?”

“Well, we must first find him, sir,” said Adrienne, hastily; “and then we will save him from these dangers.  Before I was confined here, I learned his arrival in France, and sent a confidential person to offer him the services of an unknown friend.  I now see that this mad idea, with which I have been so much reproached, was a very sensible one.  I am more convinced of it than ever.  The prince belongs to my family, and I owe him a generous hospitality.  I had destined for him the lodge I occupied at my aunt’s.”

“And you, my dear young lady?”

“To-day, I shall remove to a house, which I had prepared some time ago, with the determination of quitting Madame de Saint-Dizier, and living alone as I pleased.  Then, sir, as you seem bent upon being the good genius of our family, be as generous with regard to Prince Djalma, as you have been to me and Marshal Simon’s daughters.  I entreat you to discover the hiding-place of this poor king’s son, as you call him; keep my secret for me, and conduct him to the house offered by the unknown friend.  Let him not disquiet himself about anything; all his wants shall be provided for; he shall live—­like a prince.”

“Yes; he will indeed live like a prince, thanks to your royal munificence.  But never was such kind interest better deserved.  It is enough to see (as I have seen) his fine, melancholy countenance—­”

“You have seen him, then, sir?” said Adrienne, interrupting Rodin.

“Yes, my dear young lady; I was with him for about two hours.  It was quite enough to judge of him.  His charming features are the mirror of his soul.”

“And where did you see him, sir?”

“At your old Chateau de Cardoville, my dear young lady, near which he had been shipwrecked in a storm, and whither I had gone to—­” Rodin hesitated for a moment, and then, as if yielding to the frankness of his disposition, added:  “Whither I had gone to commit a bad action—­a shameful, miserable action, I must confess!”

“You, sir?—­at Cardoville House—­to commit a bad action?” cried Adrienne, much surprised.