of Loyola, and, moreover, executed a more complete deed of transfer on the day, the 13th of February, 1832, when he, alone of the heirs, stood in the room of the house, No. 3, Rue St. Francois, claiming what was a vast surprise for the Jesuits, who, a hundred and fifty years before, had discovered that Count Marius de Rennepont had secreted a considerable amount of his wealth, all of which had been confiscated to them, in those painful days of dragoonings, and the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.  They had bargained for some thirty or forty millions of francs to be theirs, by educating Gabriel into resigning his inheritance to them, but it was two hundred and twelve millions which the Jesuit representatives (Father d’Aigrigny and his secretary, Rodin) were amazed to hear their nursling placed in possession of.  They had the treasure in their hands, in fact, when a woman of strangely sad beauty had mysteriously entered the room where the will had been read, and laid a paper before the notary.  It was a codicil, duly drawn up and signed, deferring the carrying out of the testament until the first day of June the same year.  The Jesuits fled from the house, in rage and intense disappointment.  Father d’Aigrigny was so stupor-stricken at the defeat, that he bade his secretary at once write off to Rome that the Rennepont inheritance had escaped them, and hopes to seize it again were utterly at an end.  Upon this, Rodin had revolted, and shown that he had authority to command where he had, so far, most humbly obeyed.  Many such spies hang about their superior’s heels, with full powers to become the governor in turn, at a moment’s notice.  Thenceforward, he, Rodin, had taken the business into his own hands.  He had let Rose and Blanche Simon out of the convent into their father’s arms.  He had gone in person to release Adrienne de Cardoville from the asylum.  More, having led her to sigh for Prince Djalma, he prompted the latter to burn for her.

He let not M. Hardy escape.  A friend whom the latter treated as a brother, had been shown up to him as a mere spy of the Jesuits; the woman whom he adored, a wedded woman, alas! who had loved him in spite of her vows, had been betrayed.  Her mother had compelled her to hide her shame in America, and, as she had often said—­“Much as you are endeared to me, I cannot waver between you and my mother!” so she had obeyed, without one farewell word to him.  Confess, Rodin was a more dextrous man than his late master!  In the pages that ensue farther proofs of his superiority in baseness and satanic heartlessness will not be wanting.

CHAPTER III.

The attack.