“But, sir—­admitting that you suppose me worthy of the too flattering praises you bestow upon me—­how could you judge of my heart, my mind, my character?”

“I will tell you, my dear young lady; but first I must make another confession, that fills me with shame.  If you were not even so wonderfully endowed, what you have suffered in this house should suffice to command the interest of every honest man—­don’t you think so?”

“I do think it should, sir.”

“I might thus explain the interest I feel in you.  But no—­I confess it—­that would not have sufficed with me.  Had you been only Mdlle. de Cardoville—­a rich, noble, beautiful young lady—­I should doubtless have pitied your misfortune; but I should have said to myself, ’This poor young lady is certainly much to be pitied; but what can I, poor man, do in it?  My only resource is my post of secretary to the Abbe d’Aigrigny, and he would be the first that must be attacked.  He is all-powerful, and I am nothing.  To engage in a struggle with him would be to ruin myself, without the hope of saving this unfortunate person.’  But when I learnt what you were, my dear young lady, I revolted, in spite of my inferiority. `No,’ I said, `a thousand times, no!  So fine an intellect, so great a heart, shall not be the victims of an abominable plot.  I may perish in the struggle, but I will at least make the attempt.’”

No words can paint the mixture of delicacy, energy, and sensibility with which Rodin uttered these sentiments.  As it often happens with people singularly repulsive and ill-favored, if they can once bring you to forget their ugliness, their very deformity becomes a source of interest and commiseration, and you say to yourself, “What a pity that such a mind, such a soul, should inhabit so poor a body!”—­and you are touched and softened by the contrast.

It was thus that Mdlle. de Cardoville began to look upon Rodin.  He had shown himself as simple and affectionate towards her as he had been brutal and insolent to Dr. Baleinier.  One thing only excited the lively curiosity of Mdlle. de Cardoville—­she wished to know how Rodin had conceived the devotion and admiration which she seemed to inspire.

“Forgive my indiscreet and obstinate curiosity, sir, but I wish to know—­”

“How you were morally revealed to me—­is it not so?  Oh, my dear young lady! nothing is more simple.  I will explain it to you in two words.  The Abbe d’Aigrigny saw in me nothing but a writing-machine, an obtuse, mute, blind instrument—­”

“I thought M. d’Aigrigny had more penetration.”

“And you are right, my dear young lady; he is a man of unparalleled sagacity; but I deceived him by affecting more than simplicity.  Do not, therefore, think me false.  No; I am proud in my manner—­and my pride consists in never appearing above my position, however subaltern it may be!  Do you know why?  It is that, however haughty may be my superiors, I can say to myself, `They do not know my value.  It is the inferiority of my condition, not me, that they humiliate.’  By this I gain doubly—­my self-love is spared, and I hate no one.”