And the unfortunate man, almost delirious, sank with clasped hands upon the ground.

“Sir,” cried Rodin, in an affectionate voice, as he hastened to lift him up, “my dear sir—­my dear friend—­be calm!  Comfort yourself.  I cannot bear to see you despond.  Alas! my intention was quite the contrary to that.”

“The curse! the curse! yes, she will curse me also—­she, that I loved so much—­in the everlasting flames!” murmured Hardy, shuddering, and apparently insensible to the other’s words.

“But, my dear sir, listen to me, I entreat you,” resumed the latter; “let me finish my story, and then you will find it as consoling as it now seems terrible.  For heaven’s sake, remember the adorable words of our angelic Abbe Gabriel, with regard to the sweetness of prayer.”

At the name of Gabriel, Hardy recovered himself a little, and exclaimed, in a heart-rending tone:  “Ay! his words were sweet and beneficent.  Where are they now?  For mercy’s sake, repeat to me those consoling words.”

“Our angelic Abbe Gabriel,” resumed Rodin, “spoke to you of the sweetness of prayer—­”

“Oh, yes! prayer!”

“Well, my dear sir, listen to me, and you shall see how prayer saved Rancey, and made a saint of him.  Yes, these frightful torments, that I have just described, these threatening visions, were all conquered by prayer, and changed into celestial delights.”

“I beg of you,” said Hardy, in a faint voice, “speak to me of Gabriel, speak to me of heaven—­but no more flames—­no more hell—­where sinful women weep tears of blood—­”

“No, no,” replied Rodin; and even as, in describing hell, his tone had been harsh and threatening, it now became warm and tender, as he uttered the following words:  “No; we will have no more images of despair—­for, as I have told you, after suffering infernal tortures, Rancey, thanks to the power of prayer, enjoyed the delights of paradise.”

“The delights of paradise?” repeated Hardy, listening with anxious attention.

“One day, at the height of his grief, a priest, a good priest—­another Abbe Gabriel—­came to Rancey.  Oh, happiness! oh, providential change!  In a few days, he taught the sufferer the sacred mysteries of prayer—­that pious intercession of the creature, addressed to the Creator, in favor of a soul exposed to the wrath of heaven.  Then Rancey seemed transformed.  His grief was at once appeased.  He prayed; and the more he prayed, the greater was his hope.  He felt that God listened to his prayer.  Instead of trying to forget his beloved, he now thought of her constantly, and prayed for her salvation.  Happy in his obscure cell, alone with that adored remembrance, he passed days and nights in praying for her—­plunged in an ineffable, burning, I had almost said amorous ecstasy.”

It is impossible to give an idea of the tone of almost sensual energy with which Rodin pronounced the word “amorous.”  Hardy started, changing from hot to cold.  For the first time, his weakened mind caught a glimpse of the fatal pleasures of asceticism, and of that deplorable catalepsy, described in the lives of St. Theresa, St. Aubierge and others.