So saying, he turned towards the door, where Rodin still stood, silent and attentive, dissembling with habitual impassibility the fatal hopes he had just conceived in his brain.  The girls, no longer doubting the removal of their governess, and convinced that Dagobert would not tell them whither they had conveyed her, remained pensive and sad.

At sight of the priest, whom he had forgotten for the moment, the soldier’s rage increased, and he said to him abruptly:  “Are you still there?”

“I would merely observe to you, my dear sir,” said Rodin, with that air of perfect good nature which he knew so well how to assume, “that you were standing before the door, which naturally prevented me from going out.”

Well, now nothing prevents you—­so file off!”

“Certainly, I will file off, if you wish it, my dear sir though I think I have some reason to be surprised at such a reception.”

“It is no reception at all—­so begone!”

“I had come, my dear sir to speak to you—­”

“I have no time for talking.”

“Upon business of great importance.”

“I have no other business of importance than to remain with these children.”

“Very good, my dear sir,” said Rodin, pausing on the threshold.  “I will not disturb you any longer; excuse my indiscretion.  The bearer of excellent news from Marshal Simon, I came—­”

“News from our father!” cried Rose, drawing nearer to Rodin.

“Oh, speak, speak, sir!” added Blanche.

“You have news of the marshal!” said Dagobert, glancing suspiciously at Rodin.  “Pray, what is this news?”

But Rodin, without immediately answering the question, returned from the threshold into the room, and, contemplating Rose and Blanche by turns with admiration, he resumed:  “What happiness for me, to be able to bring some pleasure to these dear young ladies.  They are even as I left them graceful, and fair, and charming—­only less sad than on the day when I fetched them from the gloomy convent in which they were kept prisoners, to restore them to the arms of their glorious father!”

“That was their place, and this is not yours,” said Dagobert, harshly, still holding the door open behind Rodin.

“Confess, at least that I was not so much out of place at Dr. Baleinier’s,” said the Jesuit, with a cunning air.  “You know, for it was there that I restored to you the noble imperial cross you so much regretted—­the day when that good Mdlle. de Cardoville only prevented you from strangling me by telling you that I was her liberator.  Aye! it was just as I have the honor of stating, young ladies,” added Rodin, with a smile; “this brave soldier was very near strangling me, for, be it said without offense, he has, in spite of his age, a grasp of iron.  Ha, ha! the Prussians and Cossacks must know that better than I!”

These few words reminded Dagobert and the twins of the services which Rodin had really rendered them; and though the marshal had heard Mdlle. de Cardoville speak of Rodin as of a very dangerous man, he had forgotten, in the midst of so many anxieties, to communicate this circumstance to Dagobert.  But this latter, warned by experience, felt, in spite of favorable appearances, a secret aversion for the Jesuit; so he replied abruptly:  “The strength of my grasp has nothing to do with the matter.”