l you of her wit and audacity; you know
them but too well. No one could be more dangerous to us than this
creature, a patrician in blood, a plebeian in heart, a poet in
imagination. Then, too, there would be Prince Djalma, chivalrous, bold,
ready for adventure, knowing nothing of civilized life, implacable in his
hate as in his affection, a terrible instrument for whoever can make use
of him. In this detestable family, even such a wretch as Sleepinbuff, who
in himself is of no value, raised and purified by the contact of these
generous and far from narrow natures (as they call them), might represent
the working class, and take a large share in the influence of that
association. Now do you not think that if all these people, already
exasperated against us, because (as they say) we have wished to rob them,
should follow the detestable counsels of this Rennepont--should unite
their forces around this immense fortune, which would strengthen them a
hundred-fold--do you not think that, if they declare a deadly war against
us, they will be the most dangerous enemies that we have ever had? I tell
you that the Company has never been in such serious peril; yes, it is now
a question of life and death. We must no longer defend ourselves, but
lead the attack, so as to annihilate this accursed race of Rennepont, and
obtain possession of these millions."

At this picture, drawn by Rodin with a feverish animation, which had only
the more influence from its unexpectedness, the princess and Father
d'Aigrigny looked at each other in confusion.

"I confess," said the reverend father to Rodin, "I had not considered all
the dangerous consequences of this association, recommended by M. de
Rennepont. I believe that the heir, from the characters we know them to
be possessed of, would wish to realize this Utopia. The peril is great
and pressing; what is to be done?"

"What, sir? You have to act upon ignorant, heroic, enthusiastic natures
like Djalma's--sensual and eccentric characters like Adrienne de
Cardoville's--simple and ingenuous minds like Rose and Blanche
Simon's--honest and frank dispositions like Francis Hardy's--angelic and
pure souls like Gabriel's--brutal and stupid instincts like Jacques--and
can you ask, 'What is to be done?'"

"In truth, I do not understand you," said Father d'Aigrigny.

"I believe it. Your past conduct shows as much," replied Rodin,
contemptuously. "You have had recourse to the lowest and most mechanical
co