"These adulterous lamentations are not deserving of pity," answered
Father d'Aigrigny, with contempt. "We will see about that; M. de Bressac
may still be useful to us. But let us hear this letter of M. Hardy, that
impious and republican manufacturer, worthy descendant of an accursed
race, whom it is of the first importance to keep away."

"Here is M. Hardy's letter," resumed Rodin. "To-morrow, we will send it
to the person to whom it is addressed." Rodin read as follows:

"TOULOUSE, February the 10th.

"At length I find a moment to write to you, and to explain the cause
of the sudden departure which, without alarming, must at least have
astonished you. I write also to ask you a service; the facts may be
stated in a few words. I have often spoken to you of Felix de Bressac,
one of my boyhood mates, though not nearly so old as myself. We have
always loved each other tenderly, and have shown too many proofs of
mutual affection not to count upon one another. He is a brother to me.
You know all I mean by that expression. Well--a few days ago, he wrote
to me from Toulouse, where he was to spend some time: 'If you love me,
come; I have the greatest need of you. At once! Your consolations
may perhaps give me the courage to live. If you arrive too late--why,
forgive me--and think sometimes of him who will be yours to the last.'
Judge of my grief and fear on receipt of the above. I seat instantly
for post-horses. My old foreman, whom I esteem and revere (the father of
General Simon), hearing that I was going to the south, begged me to take
him with me, and to leave him for some days in the department of the
Creuse, to examine some ironworks recently founded there. I consented
willingly to this proposition, as I should thus at least have some one
to whom I could pour out the grief and anxiety which had been caused
by this letter from Bressac. I arrive at Toulouse; they tell me that
he left the evening before, taking arms with him, a prey to the most
violent despair. It was impossible at first to tell whither he had gone;
after two days, some indications, collected with great trouble, put me
upon his track. At last, after a thousand adventures, I found him in a
miserable village. Never--no, never, have I seen despair like this.
No violence, but a dreadful dejection, a savage silence. At first, he
almost repulsed me; then, this horrible agony having reached its height,
he softened by degrees, and, in about a quarter of an hour,