“Who am I, madame?” answered Rodin, with a smile of the greatest good nature; “I have already told you that I am a poor old man, who for the last forty years, having served in the day time as a writing machine to record the ideas of others, went home every evening to work out ideas of his own—­a good kind of man who, from his garret, watches and even takes some little share in the movement of generous spirits, advancing towards an end that is nearer than is commonly thought.  And thus, my dear young lady, as I told you just now, you and I are both tending towards the same objects, though you may do the same without reflection, and merely in obedience to your rare and divine instincts.  So continue so to live, fair, free, and happy!—­it is your mission—­more providential than you may think it.  Yes; continue to surround yourself with all the marvels of luxury and art; refine your senses, purify your tastes, by the exquisite choice of your enjoyments; by genius, grace, and purity raise yourself above the stupid and ill-favored mob of men, that will instantly surround you, when they behold you alone and free; they will consider you an easy prey, destined to please their cupidity, their egotism, their folly.

“Laugh at them, and mock these idiotic and sordid pretensions.  Be the queen of your own world, and make yourself respected as a queen.  Love—­shine—­enjoy—­it is your part upon earth.  All the flowers, with which you are whelmed in profusion, will one day bear fruit.  You think that you have lived only for pleasure; in reality, you will have lived for the noblest aims that could tempt a great and lofty soul.  And so—­some years hence—­we may meet again, perhaps; you, fairer and more followed than ever; I, older and more obscure.  But, no matter—­a secret voice, I am sure, says to you at this moment, that between us two, however different, there exists an invisible bond, a mysterious communion, which nothing hereafter will ever be able to destroy!”

He uttered these final words in a tone of such profound emotion, that Adrienne started.  Rodin had approached without her perceiving it, and without, as it were, walking at all, for he dragged his steps along the floor, with a sort of serpent motion; and he had spoken with so much warmth and enthusiasm, that his pale face had become slightly tinged, and his repulsive ugliness had almost disappeared before the brilliancy of his small sharp eyes, now wide open, and fixed full upon Adrienne.  The latter leaned forward, with half-open lips and deep-drawn breath, nor could she take her eyes from the Jesuit’s; he had ceased to speak, and yet she was still listening.  The feelings of the fair young lady, in presence of this little old man, dirty, ugly, and poor, were inexplicable.  That comparison so common, and yet so true, of the frightful fascination of the bird by the serpent, might give some idea of the singular impression made upon her.  Rodin’s tactics were skillful and sure.  Until now, Mdlle. de Cardoville had never