acred! Not to grant it would be
matricide. If I can but arrive in time! Travelling day and night, it
will take nearly two days."

"Alas! what a misfortune!" said Rodin, wringing his hands, and raising
his eyes to heaven.

His master rang the bell violently, and said to the old servant that
opened the door: "Just put what is indispensable into the portmanteau
of my travelling-carriage. Let the porter take a cab, and go for
post horses instantly. Within an hour, I must be on the road. Mother!
mother!" cried he, as the servant departed in haste. "Not to see her
again--oh, it would be frightful!" And sinking upon a chair, overwhelmed
with sorrow, he covered his face with his hands.

This great grief was sincere--he loved tenderly his mother that divine
sentiment had accompanied him, unalterable and pure, through all the
phases of a too often guilty life.

After a few minutes, Rodin ventured to say to his master, as he showed
him the second letter: "This, also, has just been brought from M.
Duplessis. It is very important--very pressing--"

"See what it is, and answer it. I have no head for business."

"The letter is confidential," said Rodin, presenting it to his master.
"I dare not open it, as you may see by the mark on the cover."

At sight of this mark, the countenance of Rodin's master assumed an
indefinable expression of respect and fear. With a trembling hand he
broke the seal. The note contained only the following words: "Leave all
business, and without losing a minute, set out and come. M. Duplessis
will replace you. He has orders."

"Great God!" cried this man in despair. "Set out before I have seen my
mother! It is frightful, impossible--it would perhaps kill her--yes, it
would be matricide!"

Whilst he uttered these words, his eyes rested on the huge globe, marked
with red crosses. A sudden revolution seemed to take place within him;
he appeared to repent of the violence of his regrets; his face, though
still sad, became once more calm and grave. He handed the fatal letter
to his secretary, and said to him, whilst he stifled a sigh: "To be
classed under its proper number."

Rodin took the letter, wrote a number upon it, and placed it in a
particular box. After a moment's silence, his master resumed: "You will
take orders from M. Duplessis, and work with him. You will deliver to
him the note on the affair of the medals; he knows to whom to address
it. You will write to Batavia, Leipsic, and Charlestown