“How?” replied Rodin, with a sort of painful impatience; “why, because I was completely under Abbe d’Aigrigny’s charm, one of the most prodigiously clever men I have ever known, and, as I only discovered the day before yesterday, one of the most prodigiously dangerous men there is in the world.  He had conquered my scruples, by persuading me that the End justifies the Means.  I must confess that the end he seemed to propose to himself was great and beautiful; but the day before yesterday I was cruelly undeceived.  I was awakened, as it were, by a thunder-peal.  Oh, my dear young lady!” added Rodin, with a sort of embarrassment and confusion, “let us talk no more of my fatal journey to Cardoville.  Though I was only an ignorant and blind instrument, I feel as ashamed and grieved at it as if I had acted for myself.  It weighs upon me, it oppresses me.  I entreat you, let us speak rather of yourself, and of what interests you—­for the soul expands with generous thoughts, even as the breast is dilated in pure and healthful air.”

Rodin had confessed his fault so spontaneously, he explained it so naturally, he appeared to regret it so sincerely, that Adrienne, whose suspicions had no other grounds, felt her distrust a good deal diminished.

“So,” she resumed, still looking attentively at Rodin, “it was at Cardoville that you saw Prince Djalma?”

“Yes, madame; and my affection for him dates from that interview.  Therefore I will accomplish my task.  Be satisfied, my dear young lady; like you, like Marshal Simon’s daughters, the prince shall avoid being the victim of this detestable plot, which unhappily does not stop there.”

“And who besides, then, is threatened?”

“M.  Hardy, a man full of honor and probity, who is also your relation, and interested in this inheritance, but kept away from Paris by infamous treachery.  And another heir, an unfortunate artisan, who falling into a trap cleverly baited, has been thrown into a prison for debt.”

“But, sir,” said Adrienne, suddenly, “for whose advantage was this abominable plot, which really alarms me, first devised?”

“For the advantage of Abbe d’Aigrigny,” answered Rodin.

“How, and by what right!  Was he also an heir?”

“It would take too long to explain it to you, my dear young lady.  You will know all one day.  Only be convinced that your family has no more bitter enemy that Abbe d’Aigrigny.”

“Sir,” said Adrienne, giving way to one last suspicion, “I will speak frankly to you.  How can I have deserved the interest that you seem to take in me, and that you even extend to all the members of my family?”

“My dear young lady,” answered Rodin, with a smile, “were I to tell you the cause, you would only laugh at, or misapprehend me.”

“Speak, I beg of you, sir.  Do not mistrust me or yourself.”

“Well, then, I became interested in you—­devoted to you—­because your heart is generous, your mind lofty, your character independent and proud.  Once attached to you, those of your race, who are indeed themselves worthy of interest, were no longer indifferent to me.  To serve them was to serve you also.”