“Since I must make the unpleasant avowal, this passion is indolence—­yes, indolence—­the horror of all activity of mind, of all moral responsibility, of taking the lead in anything.  With the twelve hundred francs that Abbe d’Aigrigny gave me, I was the happiest man in the world; I trusted to the nobleness of his views; his thoughts became mine, his wishes mine.  My work once finished, I returned to my poor little chamber, I lighted my fire, I dined on vegetables—­then, taking up some book of philosophy, little known, and dreaming over it, I gave free course to my imagination, which, restrained all the day long, carried me through numberless theories to a delicious Utopia.  Then, from the eminences of my intelligence, lifted up Lord knows whither, by the audacity of my thoughts, I seemed to look down upon my master, and upon the great men of the earth.  This fever lasted for three or four hours, after which I had a good sleep; and, the next morning, I went lightly to my work, secure of my daily bread, without cares for the future, living content with little, waiting with impatience for the delights of my solitary evening, and saying to myself as I went on writing like a stupid machine:  `And yet—­and yet—­if I chose!’—­”

“Doubtless, you could, like others, surer than others, have reached a higher position,” said Adrienne, greatly struck with Rodin’s practical philosophy.

“Yes, I think I could have done so; but for what purpose?—­You see, my dear young lady, what often renders people of some merit puzzles to the vulgar, is that they are frequently content to say:  ‘If I chose!’”

“But, sir, without attaching much importance to the luxuries of life, there is a certain degree of comfort, which age renders almost indispensable, and which you seem to have utterly renounced.”

“Undeceive yourself, if you please, my dear young lady,” said Rodin, with a playful smile.  “I am a true Sybarite; I require absolutely warm clothes, a good stove, a soft mattress, a good piece of bread, a fresh radish, flavored with good cheap salt, and some good, clear water; and, notwithstanding this complication of wants, my twelve hundred francs have always more than sufficed, for I have been able to make some little savings.”

“But now that you are without employment, how will you manage to live, sir?” said Adrienne, more and more interested by the singularities of this man, and wishing to put his disinterestedness to the proof.

“I have laid by a little, which will serve me till I have unravelled the last thread of Father d’Aigrigny’s dark designs.  I owe myself this reparation, for having been his dupe; three or four days, I hope, will complete the work.  After that, I have the certainty of meeting with a situation, in my native province, under a collector of taxes:  some time ago, the offer was made me by a friend; but then I would not leave Father d’Aigrigny, notwithstanding the advantages proposed.  Fancy, my dear young lady—­eight hundred francs, with board and lodging!  As I am a little of the roughest, I should have preferred lodging apart; but, as they give me so much, I must submit to this little inconvenience.”