“I might confine myself, sir, to silence—­disdaining to answer such accusations, till a judicial decision had given them some kind of authority.  But, strong in a good conscience I address myself to Mdlle. de Cardoville, and I beg her to say if this very morning I did not inform her, that her health would soon be sufficiently restored to allow her to leave this house.  I conjure her, in the name of her well-known love of truth to state if such was not my language, when I was alone with her—­”

“Come, sir!” said Rodin, interrupting Baleinier with an insolent air; “suppose that, from pure generosity, this dear young lady were to admit as much—­what will it prove in your favor?—­why, nothing at all.”

“What, sir,” cried the doctor, “do you presume—­”

“I presume to unmask you, without asking your leave.  What have you just told us?  Why, that being alone with Mdlle. de Cardoville, you talked to her as if she were really mad.  How very conclusive!”

“But, sir—­” cried the doctor.

“But, sir,” resumed Rodin, without allowing him to continue, “it is evident that, foreseeing the possibility of what has occurred to-day, and, to provide yourself with a hole to creep out at, you have pretended to believe your own execrable falsehood, in presence of this poor young lady, that you might afterwards call in aid the evidence of your own assumed conviction.  Come, sir! such stories will not go down with people of common sense or common humanity.”

“Come now, sir!” exclaimed Baleinier, angrily.

“Well, sir,” resumed Rodin, in a still louder voice, which completely drowned that of the doctor; “is it true, or is it not, that you have recourse to the mean evasion of ascribing this odious imprisonment to a scientific error?  I affirm that you do so, and that you think yourself safe, because you can now say:  `Thanks to my care, the young lady has recovered her reason.  What more would you have?’”

“Yes, I do say that, sir, and I maintain it.”

“You maintain a falsehood; for it is proven that the lady never lost her reason for a moment.”

“But I, sir, maintain that she did lose it.”

“And I, sir, will prove the contrary,” said Rodin.

“You?  How will you do that?” cried the doctor.

“That I shall take care not to tell you at present, as you may well suppose,” answered Rodin, with an ironical smile, adding with indignation:  “But, really, sir, you ought to die for shame, to dare to raise such a question in presence of the lady.  You should at least have spared her this discussion.”

“Sir!”

“Oh, fie, sir!  I say, fie!  It is odious to maintain this argument before her—­odious if you speak truth, doubly odious if you lie,” said Rodin, with disgust.

“This violence is inconceivable!” cried the Jesuit of the short robe, exasperated; “and I think the magistrate shows great partiality in allowing such gross calumnies to be heaped upon me!”