more coldly and logically on the matter, and almost reproached
himself for his surprise. But soon after, by a singular contradiction,
yielding to one of those puerile and absurd ideas, by which men are
often carried away when they think themselves alone and unobserved,
Rodin rose abruptly, took the letter which had caused him such glad
surprise, and went to display it, as it were, before the eyes of the
young swineherd in the picture: then, shaking his head proudly and
triumphantly, casting his reptile-glance on the portrait, he muttered
between his teeth, as he placed his dirty finger on the pontifical
emblem: "Eh, brother? and I also--perhaps!"

After this ridiculous interpolation, Rodin returned to his seat, and,
as if the happy news he had just received had increased his appetite, he
placed the letter before him, to read it once more, whilst he exercised
his teeth, with a sort of joyous fury, on his hard bread and radish,
chanting an old Litany.

There was something strange, great, and, above all, frightful, in the
contrast afforded by this immense ambition, already almost justified
by events, and contained, as it were, in so miserable an abode. Father
d'Aigrigny (who, if not a very superior man, had at least some real
value, was a person of high birth, very haughty, and placed in the best
society) would never have ventured to aspire to what Rodin thus looked
to from the first. The only aim of Father d'Aigrigny, and even this
he thought presumptuous, was to be one day elected General of his
Order--that Order which embraced the world. The difference of the
ambitious aptitudes of these two personages is conceivable. When a man
of eminent abilities, of a healthy and vivacious nature, concentrates
all the strength of his mind and body upon a single point, remaining,
like Rodin, obstinately chaste and frugal, and renouncing every
gratification of the heart and the senses--the man, who revolts against
the sacred designs of his Creator, does so almost always in favor of
some monstrous and devouring passion--some infernal divinity, which,
by a sacrilegious pact, asks of him, in return for the bestowal of
formidable power, the destruction of every noble sentiment, and of all
those ineffable attractions and tender instincts with which the Maker,
in His eternal wisdom and inexhaustible munificence, has so paternally
endowed His creatures.

During the scene that we have just described, Rodin had not perceived
that the curta