l. 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."

"Father!" cried Gabriel, with as much indignation as grief, "you do not
think that of me--you cannot think it."

Without noticing the protestations of Gabriel, Father d'Aigrigny
continued his imaginary picture of the dangers of the Company, which,
far from being really in peril, was already beginning secretly to
recover its influence.

"Oh! if our Company were now as powerful as it was some years ago,"
resumed the reverend father; "if it were still surrounded by the respect
and homage which are due to it from all true believers--in spite of the
abominable calumnies with which we are assailed--then, my dear son, we
should perhaps have hesitated to release you from your vows, and have
rather endeavored to open your eyes to the light, and save you from
the fatal delusion to which you are a prey. But now that we are weak,
oppressed, threatened on every side, it is our duty, it is an act of
charity, not to force you to share in perils from which you have the
prudence to wish to withdraw yourself."

So, saying, Father d'Aigrigny cast a rapid glance at his socius,
who answered with a nod of approbation, accompanied by a movement of
impatience that seemed to say: "Go on! go on!"

Gabriel was quite overcome. There was not in the whole world a heart
more generous, loyal, and brave than his. We may judge of what he
must have suffered, on hearing the resolution he had come to thus
misinterpreted.

"Father," he resumed, in an agitated voice, whilst his eyes filled
with tears, "your words are cruel and unjust. You know that I am not a
coward."

"No," said Rodin, in his sharp, cutting voice, addressing Father
d'Aigrigny, and pointing to Gabriel with a disdainful look; "your dear
son is only prudent."