“You have also discovered, and told this lady, that Prince Djalma was passionately in love,” resumed the count.  “Well!  I admire your penetration, my dear sir; it was true.”

Rodin looked confused, and at a loss for a reply.

“The person that I loved so passionately,” said Adrienne, “was the prince.”

“The person that the prince loved so passionately,” resumed the count, “was this lady.”

These revelations, so sudden and alarming, almost stunned Rodin; he remained mute and terrified, thinking of the future.

“Do you understand now, sir, the extent of our gratitude towards you?” resumed Adrienne, in a still more mocking tone.  “Thanks to your sagacity, thanks to the touching interest you take in us, the prince and I are indebted to you for the knowledge of our mutual sentiments.”

The Jesuit had now gradually recovered his presence of mind, and his apparent calmness greatly irritated M. de Montbron, who, but for Adrienne’s presence, would have assumed another tone than jests.

“There is some mistake,” said Rodin, “in what you have done me the honor to tell me, my dear young lady.  I have never in my life spoken of the sentiments, however worthy and respectable, that you may entertain for Prince Djalma—­”

“That is true,” replied Adrienne; “with scrupulous and exquisite discretion, whenever you spoke to me of the deep love felt by Prince Djalma, you carried your reserve and delicacy so far as to inform me that it was not I whom he loved.”

“And the same scruple induced you to tell the prince that Mdlle. de Cardoville loved some one passionately—­but that he was not the person,” added the count.

“Sir,” answered Rodin, dryly, “I need hardly tell you that I have no desire to mix myself up with amorous intrigues.”

“Come! this is either pride or modesty,” said the count, insolently.  “For your own interest, pray do not advance such things; for, if we took you at your word, and it became known, it might injure some of the nice little trades that you carry on.”

“There is one at least,” said Rodin, drawing himself up as proudly as M. de Montbron, “whose rude apprenticeship I shall owe to you.  It is the wearisome one of listening to your discourse.”

“I tell you what, my good sir!” replied the count, disdainfully:  “you force me to remind you that there are more ways than one of chastising impudent rogues.”

“My dear count!” said Adrienne to M. de Montbron, with an air of reproach.

With perfect coolness, Rodin replied:  “I do not exactly see, sir, first, what courage is shown by threatening a poor old man like myself, and, secondly—­”

“M.  Rodin,” said the count, interrupting the Jesuit, “first, a poor old man like you, who does evil under the shelter of the age he dishonors, is both cowardly and wicked, and deserves a double chastisement; secondly, with regard to this question of age, I am not aware that gamekeepers and policemen bow down respectfully to the gray coats of old wolves, and the gray hairs of old thieves.  What do you think, my good sir?”