“You see,” said Rodin, in so faint a voice that it was almost unintelligible, “the punishment begins already.  One of the Renneponts is dead—­and believe me—­this certificate,” and he pointed to the paper that Father d’Aigrigny held in his hand, “will one day be worth forty millions to the Society of Jesus—­and that—­because—­”

The lips alone finished the sentence.  During some seconds, Rodin’s voice had become so faint, that it was at last quite imperceptible.  His larynx, contracted by violent emotion, no longer emitted any sound.  The Jesuit, far from being disconcerted by this incident, finished his phrase, as it were, by expressive pantomime.  Raising his head proudly he tapped his forehead with his forefinger, as if to express that it was to his ability this first success was owing.  But he soon fell back again on the bed, exhausted, breathless, sinking, with his cotton handkerchief pressed once more to his parched lips.  The good news, as Father d’Aigrigny called it, had not cured Rodin.  For a moment only, he had had the courage to forget his pain.  But the slight color on his cheek soon disappeared; his face became once more livid.  His sufferings, suspended for a moment, were so much increased in violence, that he writhed beneath the coverlet, and buried his face in the pillow, extending his arms above his head, and holding them stiff as bars of iron.  After this crisis, intense as it was rapid:  during which Father d’Aigrigny and the prelate bent anxiously over him, Rodin, whose face was bathed in cold sweat, made a sign that he suffered less, and that he wished to drink of a potion to which he pointed.  Father d’Aigrigny fetched it for him, and while the cardinal held him up with marked disgust, the abbe administered a few spoonfuls of the potion, which almost immediately produced a soothing effect.

“Shall I call M. Rousselet?” said Father d’Aigrigny, when Rodin was once more laid down in bed.

Rodin shook his head; then, with a fresh effort, he raised his right hand, opened it, and pointed with his forefinger to a desk in a corner of the room, to signify that, being no longer able to speak, he wished to write.

“I understand your reverence,” said Father d’Aigrigny; “but first calm yourself.  Presently, if you require it.  I will give you writing materials.”

Two knocks at the outer door of the next room interrupted this scene.  From motives of prudence, Father d’Aigrigny had begged Rousselet to remain in the first of the three rooms.  He now went to open the door, and Rousselet handed him a voluminous packet, saying:  “I beg pardon for disturbing you, father, but I was told to let you have these papers instantly.”

“Thank you, M. Rousselet,” said Father d’Aigrigny; “do you know at what hour Dr. Baleinier will return?”

“He will not be long, father, for he wishes to perform before night the painful operation, that will have a decisive effect on the condition of Father Rodin.  I am preparing what is necessary for it,” added Rousselet, as he pointed to a singular and formidable apparatus, which Father d’Aigrigny examined with a kind of terror.