These words of Adrienne, joined to another circumstance, had such an effect upon their hearer, that her pale face became crimson.  The unfortunate hunchback loved Agricola, with love as passionate as it was secret and painful:  the most indirect allusion to this fatal sentiment occasioned her the most cruel embarrassment.  Now, the moment Mdlle. de Cardoville spoke of Agricola’s attachment for Mother Bunch, the latter had encountered Rodin’s observing and penetrating look fixed upon her.  Alone with Adrienne, the sempstress would have felt only a momentary confusion on hearing the name of the smith; but unfortunately she fancied that the Jesuit, who already filled her with involuntary fear, had seen into her heart, and read the secrets of that fatal love, of which she was the victim.  Thence the deep blushes of the poor girl, and the embarrassment so painfully visible, that Adrienne was struck with it.

A subtle and prompt mind, like Rodin’s on perceiving the smallest effect, immediately seeks the cause.  Proceeding by comparison, the Jesuit saw on one side a deformed, but intelligent young girl, capable of passionate devotion; on the other, a young workman, handsome, bold, frank, and full of talent.  “Brought up together, sympathizing with each other on many points, there must be some fraternal affection between them,” said he to himself; “but fraternal affection does not blush, and the hunchback blushed and grew troubled beneath my look; does she, then, Love Agricola?”

Once on the scent of this discovery, Rodin wished to pursue the investigation.  Remarking the surprise and visible uneasiness that Mother Bunch had caused in Adrienne, he said to the latter, with a smile, looking significantly at the needlewoman:  “You see, my dear young lady, how she blushes.  The good girl is troubled by what we said of the attachment of this gallant workman.”

The needlewoman hung down her head, overcome with confusion.  After the pause of a second, during which Rodin preserved silence, so as to give time for his cruel remark to pierce the heart of the victim, the savage resumed:  “Look at the dear girl! how embarrassed she appears!”

Again, after another silence, perceiving that Mother Bunch from crimson had become deadly pale, and was trembling in all her limbs, the Jesuit feared he had gone too far, whilst Adrienne said to her friend, with anxiety:  “Why, dear child, are you so agitated?”

“Oh! it is clear enough,” resumed Rodin, with an air of perfect simplicity; for having discovered what he wished to know, he now chose to appear unconscious.  “It is quite clear and plain.  This good girl has the modesty of a kind and tender sister for a brother.  When you praise him, she fancies that she is herself praised.”

“And she is as modest as she is excellent,” added Adrienne, taking bath of the girl’s hands, “the least praise, either of her adopted brother or of herself, troubles her in this way.  But it is mere childishness, and I must scold her for it.”