The expression of indifference with which the young priest pronounced these last words, was remarked by Rodin.

“Be it so,” replied Father d’Aigrigny.  “You were not aware of it—­I believe you—­though all appearances would tend to prove the contrary—­to prove, indeed, that the knowledge of this inheritance was not unconnected with your resolution to separate from us.”

“I do not understand you, Father.”

“It is very simple.  Your rupture with us would then have two motives.  First, we are in danger, and you think it prudent to leave us—­”

“Father!”

“Allow me to finish, my dear son, and come to the second motive.  If I am deceived, you can tell me so.  These are the facts.  Formerly, on the hypothesis that your family, of which you knew nothing, might one day leave you some property, you made, in return for the care bestowed on you by the Company, a free gift of all you might hereafter possess, not to us—­but to the poor, of whom we are the born shepherds.”

“Well, father?” asked Gabriel, not seeing to what this preamble tended.

“Well, my dear son—­now that you are sure of enjoying a competence, you wish, no doubt, by separating from us, to annul this donation made under other circumstances.”

“To speak plainly, you violate your oath, because we are persecuted, and because you wish to take back your gifts,” added Rodin, in a sharp voice, as if to describe in the clearest and plainest manner the situation of Gabriel with regard to the Society.

At this infamous accusation, Gabriel could only raise his hands and eyes to heaven, and exclaim, with an expression of despair, “Oh, heaven!”

Once more exchanging a look of intelligence with Rodin, Father d’Aigrigny said to him, in a severe tone, as if reproaching him for his too savage frankness:  “I think you go too far.  Our dear son could only have acted in the base and cowardly manner you suggest, had he known his position as an heir; but, since he affirms the contrary, we are bound to believe him—­in spite of appearances.”

“Father,” said Gabriel, pale, agitated trembling, and with half suppressed grief and indignation, “I thank you, at least, for having suspended your judgment.  No, I am not a coward; for heaven is my witness, that I knew of no danger to which the Society was exposed.  Nor am I base and avaricious; for heaven is also my witness, that only at this moment I learn from you, father, that I may be destined to inherit property, and—­”

“One word, my dear son.  It is quite lately that I became informed of this circumstance, by the greatest chance in the world,” said Father d’Aigrigny, interrupting Gabriel; “and that was thanks to some family papers which your adopted mother had given to her confessor, and which were entrusted to us when you entered our college.  A little before your return from America, in arranging the archives of the Company, your file of papers fell into the hands of