“Yes, father.”

“And you have absolutely decided to abandon the Society, even against my will?”

“It would be painful to me, father—­but I must resign myself to it.”

“It should be very painful to you, indeed, my dear son; for you took the irrevocable vow freely, and this vow, according to our statutes, binds you not to quit the Society, unless with the consent of your superiors.”

“I did not then know, father, the nature of the engagement I took.  More enlightened now, I ask to withdraw myself; my only desire is to obtain a curacy in some village far from Paris.  I feel an irresistible vocation for such humble and useful functions.  In the country, there is so much misery, and such ignorance of all that could contribute to ameliorate the condition of the agricultural laborer, that his existence is as unhappy as that of a negro slave; for what liberty has he? and what instruction?  Oh! it seems to me, that, with God’s help, I might, as a village curate, render some services to humanity.  It would therefore be painful to me, father, to see you refuse—­”

“Be satisfied, my son,” answered Father d’Aigrigny; “I will no longer seek to combat your desire to separate yourself from us.”

“Then, father, you release me from my vows?”

“I have not the power to do so, my dear son; but I will write immediately to Rome, to ask the necessary authority from our general.”

“I thank you, father.”

“Soon, my dear son, you will be delivered from these bonds, which you deem so heavy; and the men you abandon will not the less continue to pray for you, that God may preserve you from still greater wanderings.  You think yourself released with regard to us, my dear son; but we do not think ourselves released with regard to you.  It is not thus that we can get rid of the habit of paternal attachment.  What would you have?  We look upon ourselves as bound to our children, by the very benefits with which we have loaded them.  You were poor, and an orphan; we stretched out our arms to you, as much from the interest which you deserved, my dear son, as to spare your excellent adopted mother too great a burden.”

“Father,” said Gabriel, with suppressed emotion, “I am not ungrateful.”

“I wish to believe so, my dear son.  For long years, we gave to you, as to our beloved child, food for the body and the soul.  It pleases you now to renounce and abandon us.  Not only do we consent to it—­but now that I have penetrated the true motives of your rupture with us, it is my duty to release you from your vow.”

“Of what motives do you speak, Father?”

“Alas! my dear son, I understand your fears.  Dangers menace us—­you know it well.”

“Dangers, father?” cried Gabriel.

“It is impossible, my dear son, that you should not be aware that, since the fall of our legitimate sovereigns, our natural protectors, revolutionary impiety becomes daily more and more threatening.  We are oppressed with persecutions.  I can, therefore, comprehend and appreciate, my dear son, the motive which under such circumstances, induces you to separate from us.”