“I think not, madame; for, knowing how serious such a discovery would be, I begged the young girl to describe to me the appearance of M. d’Aigrigny.”

“Well?”

“The Abbe d’Aigrigny, she told me, is about forty years of age.  He is tall and upright, dresses plainly, but with care; has gray eyes, very large and piercing, thick eyebrows, chestnut-colored hair, a face closely shaved, and a very decided aspect.”

“It is true,” said Adrienne, hardly able to believe what she heard.  “The description is exact.”

“Wishing to have all possible details,” resumed Mother Bunch, “I asked the portress if M. Rodin and the Abbe d’Aigrigny appeared to be at variance when they quitted the house?  She replied no, but that the Abbe said to M. Rodin, as they parted at the door:  ’I will write to you tomorrow, as agreed.’”

“Is it a dream?  Good heaven!” said Adrienne, drawing her hands across her forehead in a sort of stupor.  “I cannot doubt your word, my poor friend; and yet it is M. Rodin who himself sent you to that house, to give assistance to your sister:  would he have wilfully laid open to you his secret interviews with the Abbe d’Aigrigny?  It would have been bad policy in a traitor.”

“That is true, and the same reflection occurred to me.  And yet the meeting of these two men appeared so dangerous to you, madame, that I returned home full of terror.”

Characters of extreme honesty are very hard to convince of the treachery of others:  the more infamous the deception, the more they are inclined to doubt it.  Adrienne was one of these characters, rectitude being a prime quality of her mind.  Though deeply impressed by the communication, she remarked:  “Come, my dear, do not let us frighten ourselves too soon, or be over-hasty in believing evil.  Let us try to enlighten ourselves by reasoning, and first of all remember facts.  M. Rodin opened for me the doors of Dr. Baleinier’s asylum; in my presence, he brought, his charge against the Abbe d’Aigrigny; he forced the superior of the convent to restore Marshal Simon’s daughters, he succeeded in discovering the retreat of Prince Djalma—­he faithfully executed my intentions with regard to my young cousin; only yesterday, he gave me the most useful advice.  All this is true—­is it not?”

“Certainly, madame.”

“Now suppose that M. Rodin, putting things in their worst light, had some after-thought—­that he hopes to be liberally rewarded, for instance; hitherto, at least, he has shown complete disinterestedness.”

“That also is true, madame,” said poor Mother Bunch, obliged, like Adrienne, to admit the evidence of fixed facts.

“Now let us look to the possibility of treachery.  Unite with the Abbe d’Aigrigny to betray me!  Betray me?—­how? and for what purpose?  What have I to fear?  Is it not the Abbe d’Aigrigny, on the contrary, is it not Madame de Saint-Dizier, who have to render an account for the injuries they have done me?”