y interest in doing so?"

He continued to read:

"Luckily, the certificate of death is quite correct. I sent for a doctor
from Etampes, to prove the disease, and no question can be raised on that
point. The donation is therefore good and valid in every respect, but I
think it best to inform your reverence of what has happened, that you may
take measures accordingly, etc., etc."

After a moment's reflection, Rodin said to himself: "D'Aigrigny is right
in his remark; it is more singular than important. Still, it makes one
think. We must have an eye to this affair."

Turning towards the servant, who had brought him the letter, Rodin gave
him the note he had just written to Ninny Moulin, and said to him: "Let
this letter be taken instantly to its address, and let the bearer wait
for an answer."

"Yes, father."

At the moment the servant left the room, a reverend father entered, and
said to Rodin, "Father Caboccini of Rome has just arrived, with a mission
from our general to your reverence."

At these words, Rodin's blood ran cold, but he maintained his immovable
calmness, and said simply: "Where is Father Caboccini?"

"In the next room, father."

"Beg him to walk in, and leave us," said the other.

A second after, Father Caboccini of Rome entered the room and was left
alone with Rodin.

CHAPTER LXII.

TO A SOCIUS, A SOCIUS AND A HALF.

The Reverend Father Caboccini, the Roman Jesuit who now came to visit
Rodin, was a short man of about thirty years of age, plump, in good
condition, and with an abdomen that swelled out his black cassock. The
good little father was blind with one eye, but his remaining organ of
vision sparkled with vivacity. His rosy countenance was gay, smiling,
joyous, splendidly crowned with thick chestnut hair, which curled like a
wax doll's. His address was cordial to familiarity, and his expansive and
petulant manners harmonized well with his general appearance. In a
second, Rodin had taken his measure of the Italian emissary; and as he
knew the practice of his Company, and the ways of Rome, he felt by no
means comfortable at sight of this jolly little father, with such affable
manners. He would have less feared some tall, bony priest, with austere
and sepulchral countenance, for he knew that the Company loves to deceive
by the outward appearance of its agents; and if Rodin guessed rightly,
the cordial address of this personage would rather tend to show that he
was charged with so