one of those diabolic priests, who, by the help of a few hints, avowals, letters, reconstruct a character, as Cuvier could reconstruct a body from zoological fragments.  Far from interrupting Rodin, Adrienne listened to him with growing curiosity.  Sure of the effect he produced, he continued, in a tone of indignation:  “And your aunt and the Abbe d’Aigrigny treated you as mad, because you revolted against the yoke of such tyrants! because, hating the shameful vices of slavery, you chose to be independent with the suitable qualities of independence, free with the proud virtues of liberty!”

“But, sir,” said Adrienne, more and more surprised, “how can my thoughts be so familiar to you?”

“First, I know you perfectly, thanks to your interview with the Princess de Saint-Dizier:  and next, if it should happen that we both pursue the same end, though by different means,” resumed Rodin, artfully, as he looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with an air of intelligence, “why should not our convictions be the same?”

“I do not understand you, sir.  Of what end do you speak?”

“The end pursued incessantly by all lofty, generous, independent spirits—­some acting, like you, my dear young lady, from passion, from instinct, without perhaps explaining to themselves the high mission they are called on to ful, fil.  Thus, for example, when you take pleasure in the most refined delights, when you surround yourself with all that charms the senses, do you think that you only yield to the attractions of the beautiful, to the desire of exquisite enjoyments?  No! ah, no! for then you would be incomplete, odiously selfish, a dry egotist, with a fine taste—­nothing more—­and at your age, it would be hideous, my dear young lady, it would be hideous!”

“And do you really think thus severely of me?” said Adrienne, with uneasiness, so much influence had this man irresistibly attained over her.

“Certainly, I should think thus of you, if you loved luxury for luxury’s sake; but, no—­quite another sentiment animates you,” resumed the Jesuit.  “Let us reason a little.  Feeling a passionate desire for all these enjoyments, you know their value and their need more than any one—­is it not so?”

“It is so,” replied Adrienne, deeply interested.

“Your gratitude and favor are then necessarily acquired by those who, poor, laborious, and unknown, have procured for you these marvels of luxury, which you could not do without?”

“This feeling of gratitude is so strong in me, sir,” replied Adrienne, more and more pleased to find herself so well understood, “that I once had inscribed on a masterpiece of goldsmith’s work, instead of the name of the seller, that of the poor unknown artist who designed it, and who has since risen to his true place.”

“There you see, I was not deceived,” went on Rodin; “the taste for enjoyment renders you grateful to those who procure it for you; and that is not all; here am I, an example, neither better nor worse than my neighbors, but accustomed to privations, which cause me no suffering—­so that the privations of others necessarily touch me less nearly than they do you, my dear young lady; for your habits of comfort must needs render you more compassionate towards misfortune.  You would yourself suffer too much from poverty, not to pity and succor those who are its victims.”