be delighted to
hear you, for it will give you relief. Courage! I answer for the result.
It is a wonderful cure. I will publish it by sound of trumpet."

"Allow me, doctor," whispered Father d'Aigrigny, as he approached Dr.
Baleinier; "the cardinal can witness, that I claimed beforehand the
publication of this affair--as a miraculous fact."

"Let it be miraculous then," answered Dr. Baleinier, disappointed--for he
set some value on his own work.

On hearing he was saved, Rodin though his sufferings were perhaps worse
than ever, for the fire had now pierced the scarf-skin, assumed almost an
infernal beauty. Through the painful contraction of his features shone
the pride of savage triumph; the monster felt that he was becoming once
more strong and powerful, and he seemed conscious the evils that his
fatal resurrection was to cause. And so, of still writhing beneath the
flames, he pronounced these words, the first that struggled from his
chest: "I told you I should live!"

"You told us true," cried the doctor, feeling his pulse; "the circulation
is now full and regular, the lungs are free. The reaction is complete.
You are saved."

At this moment, the last shreds of cotton had burnt out. The trivets were
withdrawn, and on the skeleton trunk of Rodin were seen four large round
blisters. The skin still smoked, and the raw flesh was visible beneath.
In one of his sudden movements, a lamp had been misplaced, and one of
these burns was larger than the other, presenting as it were to the eye a
double circle. Rodin looked down upon his wounds. After some seconds of
silent contemplation, a strange smile curled his lips. Without changing
his position, he glanced at Father d'Aigrigny with an expression
impossible to describe, and said to him, as he slowly counted the wounds
touching them with his flat and dirty nail: "Father d'Aigrigny, what an
omen!--Look here! one Rennepont--two Renneponts--three Renneponts--four
Renneponts--where is then the fifth!--Ah! here--this wound will count for
two. They are twins."[41] And he emitted a little dry, bitter laugh. Father
d'Aigrigny, the cardinal, and Dr. Baleinier, alone understood the sense
of these mysterious and fatal words, which Rodin soon completed by a
terrible allusion, as he exclaimed, with prophetic voice, and almost
inspired air: "Yes, I say it. The impious race will be reduced to ashes,
like the fragments of this poor flesh. I say it, and it will be so. I
said I would live-