orts and tears; this time my eyes were dry, my heart was cold. My
mother and brother quitted me weeping. The sight of this grief struck me
and I became conscious of the icy insensibility which had been creeping
upon me since I inhabited this tomb. Frightened at myself, I wished to
leave it, while I had still strength to do so. Then, father, I spoke to
you of the choice of a profession; for sometimes, in waking moments,
I seemed to catch from afar the sound of an active and useful life,
laborious and free, surrounded by family affections. Oh! then I felt the
want of movement and liberty, of noble and warm emotions--of that life
of the soul, which fled before me. I told it you, father on my
knees, bathing your hands with my tears. The life of a workman or a
soldier--anything would have suited me. It was then you informed me,
that my adopted mother, to whom I owed my life--for she had taken me in,
dying of want, and, poor herself, had shared with me the scanty bread
of her child--admirable sacrifice for a mother!--that she," continued
Gabriel, hesitating and casting down his eyes, for noble natures blush
for the guilt of others, and are ashamed of the infamies of which they
are themselves victims, "that she, that my adopted mother, had but one
wish, one desire--"

"That of seeing you takes orders, my dear son," replied Father
d'Aigrigny; "for this pious and perfect creature hoped, that, in
securing your salvation, she would provide for her own: but she did not
venture to inform you of this thought, for fear you might ascribe it to
an interested motive."

"Enough, father!" said Gabriel, interrupting the Abbe d'Aigrigny, with
a movement of involuntary indignation; "it is painful for me to hear you
assert an error. Frances Baudoin never had such a thought."

"My dear son, you are too hasty in your judgments," replied Father
d'Aigrigny, mildly. "I tell you, that such was the one, sole thought of
your adopted mother."

"Yesterday, father, she told me all. She and I were equally deceived."

"Then, my dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny, sternly, "you take the word
of your adopted mother before mine?"

"Spare me an answer painful for both of us, father," said Gabriel,
casting down his eyes.

"Will you now tell me," resumed Father d'Aigrigny, with anxiety, "what
you mean to--"

The reverend father was unable to finish. Samuel entered the room, and
said: "A rather old man wishes to speak to M. Rodin."

"That is my name, si