our father-attorney.  It was examined, and we thus learned that one of your paternal ancestors, to whom the house in which we now are belonged, left a will which is to be opened to day at noon.  Yesterday, we believed you one of us; our statutes command that we should possess nothing of our own; you had corroborated those statutes, by a donation in favor of the patrimony of the poor—­which we administer.  It was no longer you, therefore, but the Company, which, in my person, presented itself as the inheritor in your place, furnished with your titles, which I have here ready in order.  But now, my clear son, that you separate from us, you must present yourself in your own name.  We came here as the representatives of the poor, to whom in former days you piously abandoned whatever goods might fall to your share.  Now, on the contrary, the hope of a fortune changes your sentiments.  You are free to resume your gifts.”

Gabriel had listened to Father d’Aigrigny with painful impatience.  At length he exclaimed.  “Do you mean to say, father, that you think me capable of canceling a donation freely made, in favor of the Company, to which I am indebted for my education?  You believe me infamous enough to break my word, in the hope of possessing a modest patrimony?”

“This patrimony, my dear, son, may be small; but it may also be considerable.”

“Well, father! if it were a king’s fortune,” cried Gabriel, with proud and noble indifference, “I should not speak otherwise—­and I have, I think, the right to be believed listen to my fixed resolution.  The Company to which I belong runs, you say, great dangers.  I will inquire into these dangers.  Should they prove threatening—­strong in the determination which morally separates me from you—­I will not leave you till I see the end of your perils.  As for the inheritance, of which you believe me so desirous, I resign it to you formally, father, as I once freely promised.  My only wish is, that this property may be employed for the relief of the poor.  I do not know what may be the amount of this fortune, but large or small, it belongs to the Company, because I have thereto pledged my word.  I have told you, father, that my chief desire is to obtain a humble curacy in some poor village—­poor, above all—­because there my services will be most useful.  Thus, father, when a man, who never spoke falsehood in his life, affirms to you, that he only sighs for so humble an existence, you ought, I think, to believe him incapable of snatching back, from motives of avarice, gifts already made.”

Father d’Aigrigny had now as much trouble to restrain his joy, as he before had to conceal his terror.  He appeared, however, tolerably calm, and said to Gabriel:  “I did not expect less from you, my dear son.”

Then he made a sign to Rodin, to invite him to interpose.  The latter perfectly understood his superior.  He left the chimney, drew near to Gabriel, and leaned against the table, upon which stood paper and inkstand.  Then, beginning mechanically to beat the tattoo with the tips of his coarse fingers, in all their array of flat and dirty nails, he said to Father d’Aigrigny:  “All this is very fine! but your dear son gives you no security for the fulfilment of his promise except an oath—­and that, we know, is of little value.”