and more agitated. "Nothing is more
extraordinary," continued he, "than the generative succession of ideas.
In comparing this red-haired jade to a dove (colombe), I could not help
thinking of that infamous old woman, Sainte-Colombe, whom that big rascal
Jacques Dumoulin pays his court to, and whom the Abbe Corbinet will
finish, I hope, by turning to good account. I have often remarked, that,
as a poet may find an excellent rhyme by mere chance, so the germ of the
best ideas is sometimes found in a word, or in some absurd resemblance
like the present. That abominable hag, Sainte-Colombo, and the pretty
Adrienne de Cardoville, go as well together, as a ring would suit a cat,
or a necklace a fish. Well, there is nothing in it."

Hardly had Rodin pronounced these words, than he started suddenly, and
his face shone with a fatal joy. Then it assumed an expression of
meditative astonishment, as happens when chance reveals some unexpected
discovery to the surprised and charmed inquirer after knowledge.

Soon, with raised head and sparkling eye, his hollow cheeks swelling with
joy and pride, Rodin folded his arms in triumph on his breast, and
exclaimed: "Oh! how admirable and marvellous are these mysterious
evolutions of the mind; how incomprehensible is the chain of human
thought, which, starting from an absurd jingle of words, arrives at a
splendid or luminous idea! Is it weakness? or is it strength?
Strange--very strange! I compare the red-haired girl to a dove--a
colombe. That makes me think of the hag, who traded in the bodies and
souls of so many creatures. Vulgar proverbs occur to me, about a ring and
a cat, a fish and a necklace--and suddenly, at the word NECKLACE, a new
light dawns upon me. Yes: that one word NECKLACE shall be to me a golden
key, to open the portals of my brain, so long foolishly closed."

And, after again walking hastily up and down, Rodin continued: "Yes, it
is worth attempting. The more I reflect upon it, the more feasible it
appears. Only how to get at that wretch, Saint-Colombe? Well, there is
Jacques Dumoulin, and the other--where to find her? That is the
stumbling-block. I must not shout before I am out of the wood."

Rodin began again to walk, biting his nails with an air of deep thought.
For some moments, such was the tension of his mind, large drops of sweat
stood on his yellow brow. He walked up and down, stopped, stamped with
his foot, now raised his eyes as if in search of an inspiration,