imself, and said to him: "But for what purpose has your reverence acted
in this manner?"

"First of all, to clear myself of suspicion with regard to the letters;
then, to excite the rage of the marshal to madness, by incessantly
reminding him of the just grounds he has to hate you, and of the
impossibility of being avenged upon you. This, joined to the other
emotions of sorrow and anger, which ferment in the savage bosom of this
man of bloodshed, tended to urge him on to the rash enterprise, which is
the consequence and the punishment of his idolatry for a miserable
usurper."

"That may be," said Father d'Aigrigny, with an air of constraint: "but I
will observe to your reverence, that it was, perhaps, rather dangerous
thus to excite Marshal Simon against me."

"Why?" asked Rodin, as he fixed a piercing look upon Father d'Aigrigny.

"Because the marshal, excited beyond all bounds, and remembering only our
mutual hate, might seek me out--"

"Well! and what then?"

"Well! he might forget that I am a priest--"

"Oh, you are afraid are you?" said Rodin, disdainfully, interrupting
Father d'Aigrigny.

At the words: "You are afraid," the reverend father almost started from
his chair; but recovering his coolness, he answered: "Your reverence is
right; yes, I should be afraid under such circumstances; I should be
afraid of forgetting that I am a priest, and of remembering too well that
I have been a soldier."

"Really?" said Rodin, with sovereign contempt. "You are still no further
than that stupid and savage point of honor? Your cassock has not yet
extinguished the warlike fire? So that if this brawling swordsman, whose
poor, weak head, empty and sonorous as a drum, is so easily turned with
the stupid jargon of 'Military honor, oaths, Napoleon II.'--if this
brawling bravo, I say, were to commit some violence against you, it would
require a great effort, I suppose, for you to remain calm?"

"It is useless, I think," said Father d'Aigrigny, quite unable to control
his agitation, "for your reverence to enter upon such questions."

"As your superior," answered Rodin, severely, "I have the right to ask.
If Marshal Simon had lifted his hand against you--"

"Sir," cried the reverend father.

"There are no sirs here--we are only priests," said Rodin, harshly.
Father d'Aigrigny held down his head, scarcely able to repress his rage.

"I ask you," continued Rodin, obstinately, "if Marshal Simon had struck
you? Is that clea