“Doubtless, you could, like others, surer than others, have reached a higher position,” said Adrienne, greatly struck with Rodin’s practical philosophy.

“Yes, I think I could have done so; but for what purpose?—­You see, my dear young lady, what often renders people of some merit puzzles to the vulgar, is that they are frequently content to say:  ‘If I chose!’”

“But, sir, without attaching much importance to the luxuries of life, there is a certain degree of comfort, which age renders almost indispensable, and which you seem to have utterly renounced.”

“Undeceive yourself, if you please, my dear young lady,” said Rodin, with a playful smile.  “I am a true Sybarite; I require absolutely warm clothes, a good stove, a soft mattress, a good piece of bread, a fresh radish, flavored with good cheap salt, and some good, clear water; and, notwithstanding this complication of wants, my twelve hundred francs have always more than sufficed, for I have been able to make some little savings.”

“But now that you are without employment, how will you manage to live, sir?” said Adrienne, more and more interested by the singularities of this man, and wishing to put his disinterestedness to the proof.

“I have laid by a little, which will serve me till I have unravelled the last thread of Father d’Aigrigny’s dark designs.  I owe myself this reparation, for having been his dupe; three or four days, I hope, will complete the work.  After that, I have the certainty of meeting with a situation, in my native province, under a collector of taxes:  some time ago, the offer was made me by a friend; but then I would not leave Father d’Aigrigny, notwithstanding the advantages proposed.  Fancy, my dear young lady—­eight hundred francs, with board and lodging!  As I am a little of the roughest, I should have preferred lodging apart; but, as they give me so much, I must submit to this little inconvenience.”

Nothing could exceed Rodin’s ingenuity, in making these little household confidences (so abominably false) to Mdlle. de Cardoville, who felt her last suspicions give way.

“What, sir?” said she to the Jesuit, with interest; “in three or four days, you mean to quit Paris?”

“I hope to do so, my dear young lady; and that,” added he, in a mysterious tone, “and that for many reasons.  But what would be very precious to me,” he resumed, in a serious voice, as he looked at Adrienne with emotion, “would be to carry with me the conviction, that you did me the justice to believe, that, on merely reading your interview with the Princess de Saint-Dizier, I recognized at once qualities quite unexampled in our day, in a young person of your age and condition.”

“Ah, sir!” said Adrienne, with a smile, “do not think yourself obliged to return so soon the sincere praises that I bestowed on your superiority of mind.  I should be better pleased with ingratitude.”

“Oh, no!  I do not flatter you, my dear young lady.  Why should I?  We may probably never meet again.  I do not flatter you; I understand you—­that’s all—­and what will seem strange to you, is, that your appearance complete, the idea which I had already formed of you, my dear young lady, in reading your interview with your aunt:  and some parts of your character, hitherto obscure to me, are now fully displayed.”