ndon every hope. But Gabriel suffered more than
any one; he felt the most terrible remorse, in reflecting that, by his
blindness, he had been the involuntary cause and instrument of this
abominable theft.

So, when the notary, after having examined and verified the amount of
securities contained in the cedar box, said to Father d'Aigrigny:
"Take possession, sir, of this casket--" Gabriel exclaimed, with bitter
disappointment and profound despair: "Alas! one would fancy, under these
circumstances, that an inexorable fatality pursues all those who are
worthy of interest, affection or respect. Oh, my God!" added the young
priest, clasping his hands with fervor, "Thy sovereign justice will
never permit the triumph of such iniquity."

It was as if heaven had listened to the prayer of the missionary. Hardly
had he spoken, when a strange event took place.

Without waiting for the end of Gabriel's invocation, Rodin, profiting by
the decision of the notary, had seized the casket in his arms, unable
to repress a deep aspiration of joy and triumph. At the very moment
when Father d'Aigrigny and his socius thought themselves at last in safe
possession of the treasure, the door of the apartment in which the clock
had been heard striking was suddenly opened.

A woman appeared upon the threshold.

At sight of her, Gabriel uttered a loud cry, and remained as if
thunderstruck. Samuel and Bathsheba fell on their knees together, and
raised their clasped hands. The Jew and Jewess felt inexplicable hopes
reviving within them.

All the other actors in this scene appeared struck with stupor.
Rodin--Rodin himself--recoiled two steps, and replaced the casket on the
table with a trembling hand. Though the incident might appear natural
enough--a woman appearing on the threshold of a door, which she had just
thrown open--there was a pause of deep and solemn silence. Every bosom
seemed oppressed, and as if struggling for breath. All experienced,
at sight of this woman, surprise mingled with fear, and indefinable
anxiety--for this woman was the living original of the portrait, which
had been placed in the room a hundred and fifty years ago. The same
head-dress, the same flowing robe, the same countenance, so full of
poignant and resigned grief! She advanced slowly, and without appearing
to perceive the deep impression she had caused. She approached one of
the pieces of furniture, inlaid with brass, touched a spring concealed
in the moulding of