“Really?” said Rodin, with sovereign contempt.  “You are still no further than that stupid and savage point of honor?  Your cassock has not yet extinguished the warlike fire?  So that if this brawling swordsman, whose poor, weak head, empty and sonorous as a drum, is so easily turned with the stupid jargon of ’Military honor, oaths, Napoleon ii.’—­if this brawling bravo, I say, were to commit some violence against you, it would require a great effort, I suppose, for you to remain calm?”

“It is useless, I think,” said Father d’Aigrigny, quite unable to control his agitation, “for your reverence to enter upon such questions.”

“As your superior,” answered Rodin, severely, “I have the right to ask.  If Marshal Simon had lifted his hand against you—­”

“Sir,” cried the reverend father.

“There are no sirs here—­we are only priests,” said Rodin, harshly.  Father d’Aigrigny held down his head, scarcely able to repress his rage.

“I ask you,” continued Rodin, obstinately, “if Marshal Simon had struck you?  Is that clear?”

“Enough! in mercy,” said Father d’Aigrigny, “enough!”

“Or, if you like it better, had Marshal Simon left the marks of his fingers on your cheek?” resumed Rodin, with the utmost pertinacity.

Father d’Aigrigny, pale as death, ground his teeth in a kind of fury at the very idea of such an insult, while Rodin, who had no doubt his object in asking the question, raised his flabby eyelids, and seemed to watch attentively the significant symptoms revealed in the agitated countenance of the ex-colonel.

At length, recovering partly his presence of mind, Father d’Aigrigny replied, in a forcedly calm tone:  “If I were to be exposed to such an insult, I would pray heaven to give me resignation and humility.”

“And no doubt heaven would hear your prayers,” said Rodin, coldly, satisfied with the trial to which he had just put him.  “Besides, you are now warned, and it is not very probable,” added he, with a grim smile, “that Marshal Simon will ever return to test your humility.  But if he were to return,” said Rodin, fixing on the reverend father a long and piercing look, “you would know how to show this brutal swordsman, in spite of all his violence, what resignation and humility there is in a Christian soul!”

Two humble knocks at the door here interrupted the conversation for a moment.  A footman entered, bearing a large sealed packet on a salver, which he presented to the princess.  After this, he withdrew.  Princess de Saint-Dizier, having by a look asked Rodin’s permission to open the letter, began to read it—­and a cruel satisfaction was soon visible on her face.

“There is hope,” cried she addressing herself to Rodin:  “the demand is rigorously legal, and the consequence may be such as we desire.  In a word, my niece may, any day, be exposed to complete destitution.  She, who is so extravagant! what a change in her life!”