Having rapidly perused the paper, Father d’Aigrigny exclaimed:  “Right!  I had not thought of that.  Instead of being fatal, the correspondence between Agricola and M. Hardy may thus have the best results.  Really,” added the reverend father in a low voice to the prelate, while Rodin continued to write, “I am quite confounded.  I read—­I see—­and yet I can hardly believe my eyes.  Just before, exhausted and dying—­and now with his mind as clear and penetrating as ever.  Can this be one of the phenomena of somnambulism, in which the mind alone governs and sustains the body?”

Suddenly the door opened, and Dr. Baleinier entered the room.  At sight of Rodin, seated half-naked at the desk, with his feet upon the cold stones, the doctor exclaimed, in a tone of reproach and alarm:  “But, my lord—­but, father—­it is murder to let the unhappy man do this!—­If he is delirious from fever, he must have the strait-waistcoat, and be tied down in bed.”

So saying.  Dr. Baleinier hastily approached Rodin, and took him by the arm.  Instead of finding the skin dry and chilly, as he expected, he found it flexible, almost damp.  Struck with surprise, the doctor sought to feel the pulse of the left hand, which Rodin resigned, to him, whilst he continued working with the right.

“What a prodigy!” cried the doctor, as he counted Rodin’s pulse; “for a week past, and even this morning, the pulse has been abrupt, intermittent, almost insensible, and now it is firm, regular—­I am really puzzled—­what then has happened?  I can hardly believe what I see,” added the doctor, turning towards Father d’Aigrigny and the cardinal.

“The reverend father, who had first lost his voice, was next seized with such furious and violent despair caused by the receipt of bad news,” answered Father d’Aigrigny, “that we feared a moment for his life; while now, on the contrary, the reverend father has gained sufficient strength to go to his desk, and write for some minutes, with a clearness of argument and expression, which has confounded both the cardinal and myself.”

“There is no longer any doubt of it,” cried the doctor.  “The violent despair has caused a degree of emotion, which will admirably prepare the reactive crisis, that I am now almost certain of producing by the operation.”

“You persist in the operation?” whispered Father d’Aigrigny, whilst Rodin continued to write.

“I might have hesitated this morning; but, disposed as he now is for it, I must profit by the moment of excitement, which will be followed by greater depression.”

“Then, without the operation—­” said the cardinal.

“This fortunate and unexpected crisis will soon be over, and the reaction may kill him, my lord.”

“Have you informed him of the serious nature of the operation?”

“Pretty nearly, my lord.”

“But it is time to bring him to the point.”

“That is what I will do, my lord,” said Dr. Baleinier; and approaching Rodin, who continued to write, he thus addressed him, in a firm voice:  “My reverend father, do you wish to be up and well in a week?”