een
a spy on the other children, from a sort of disinterestedness; but the
orders of the superior made me advance another step on that shameful
road. I had become an informer, to escape a merited punishment. And yet,
such was my faith, my humility, my confidence, that I performed with
innocence and candor this doubly odious part. Once, indeed, tormented by
vague scruples, the last remains of generous aspirations that they were
stifling within me, I asked myself if the charitable and religious end
could justify the means, and I communicated my doubts to the superior.
He replied, that I had not to judge, but to obey, and that to him alone
belonged the responsibility of my acts."

"Go on, my dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny, gelding, in spite of
himself, to the deepest dejection. "Alas! I was right in opposing your
travel to America."

"And yet it was the will of Providence, in that new, productive, and
free country, that, enlightened by a singular chance, on past and
present, my eyes were at length opened. Yes!" cried Gabriel, "it was in
America that, released from the gloomy abode where I had spent so many
years of my youth, and finding myself for the first time face to face
with the divine majesty of Nature, in the heart of immense solitudes
through which I journeyed--it was there that, overcome by so much
magnificence and grandeur, I made a vow--" Here Gabriel interrupted
himself, to continue: "Presently, father, I will explain to you that
vow; but believe me," added the missionary, with an accent of deep
sorrow, "it was a fatal day to me when I first learned to fear and
condemn all that I had hitherto most revered and blessed. Oh! I assure
you father," added Gabriel, with moist eyes, "it was not for myself
alone, that I then wept."

"I know the goodness of your heart, my dear son," replied Father
d'Aigrigny, catching a glimpse of hope, on seeing Gabriel's emotion; "I
fear that you have been led astray. But trust yourself to us, as to
your spiritual fathers, and I doubt not we shall confirm your faith,
so unfortunately shaken, and disperse the darkness which at present
obscures your sight. Alas, my dear son, in your vain illusions, you have
mistaken some false glimmer for the pure light of day. But go on."

Whilst Father d'Aigrigny was thus speaking, Rodin stopped, took a pocket
book from his coat, and wrote down several notes. Gabriel was becoming
more and more pale and agitated. It required no small courage in h