in the night, I felt vague terrors; my mind, weakened by fasting, austerity, and solitude, was impressed with frightful visions.  At other times, on the contrary, I felt a sort of quiescence, in the idea that, having once pronounced my vows, I should be delivered for ever from the burden of thought and will.  Then I abandoned myself to an insurmountable torpor, like those unfortunate wretches, who, surprised by a snow-storm, yield to a suicidal repose.  Thus I awaited the fatal moment.  At last, according to the rule of discipline, choking with the death rattle,[17] I hastened the moment of accomplishing the final act of my expiring will—­the vow to renounce it for ever.”

“Remember, my dear son,” replied Father d’Aigrigny, pale and tortured by increasing anguish, “remember, that, on the eve of the day fixed for the completion of your vows; I offered, according to the rule of our Company, to absolve you from joining us—­leaving you completely free, for we accept none but voluntary vocations.”

“It is true, father,” answered Gabriel, with sorrowful bitterness; “when, worn out and broken by three months of solitude and trial, I was completely exhausted, and unable to move a step, you opened the door of my cell, and said to me:  ’If you like, rise and walk; you are free; Alas!  I had no more strength.  The only desire of my soul, inert and paralyzed for so long a period, was the repose of the grave; and pronouncing those irrevocable vows, I fell, like a corpse, into your hands.”

“And, till now, my dear son, you have never failed in this corpse—­like obedience,—­to use the expression of our glorious founder—­because, the more absolute this obedience, the more meritorious it must be.”

After a moment’s silence, Gabriel resumed:  “You had always concealed from me, father, the true ends of the Society into which I entered.  I was asked to abandon my free-will to my superiors, in the name of the Greater Glory of God.  My vows once pronounced, I was to be in your hands a docile and obedient instrument; but I was to be employed, you told me, in a holy, great and beauteous work.  I believed you, father—­how should I not have believed you? but a fatal event changed my destiny—­a painful malady caused by—­”

“My son,” cried Father d’Aigrigny, interrupting Gabriel, “it is useless to recall these circumstances.”

“Pardon me, father, I must recall them.  I have the right to be heard.  I cannot pass over in silence any of the facts, which have led me to take the immutable resolution that I am about to announce to you.”

“Speak on, my son,” said Father d’Aigrigny, frowning; for he was much alarmed at the words of the young priest, whose cheeks, until now pale, were covered with a deep blush.

“Six months before my departure for America,” resumed Gabriel, casting down his eyes, “you informed me, that I was destined to confess penitents; and to prepare then for that sacred ministry, you gave me a book.”