gias, of Julius
II., and other dubious Vicars of Christ, might excuse and authorize the
pretensions of the Jesuits.

Though the object of his secret intrigues at Rome had hitherto been
enveloped in the greatest mystery, suspicions had been excited in regard
to his private communications with many members of the Sacred College.
A portion of that college, Cardinal Malipieri at the head of them, had
become very uneasy on the subject, and, profiting by his journey
to France, the cardinal had resolved to penetrate the Jesuit's dark
designs. If, in the scene we have just painted, the cardinal showed
himself so obstinately bent on having a conference with Rodin, in spite
of the refusal of the latter, it was because the prelate hoped, as we
shall soon see, to get by cunning at the secret, which had hitherto
been so well concealed. It was, therefore, in the midst of all these
extraordinary circumstances, that Rodin saw himself the victim of a
malady, which paralyzed his strength, at the moment when he had need of
all his activity, and of all the resources of his mind. After remaining
for some seconds motionless near the door, the cardinal, still holding
his bottle under his nose, slowly approached the bed where Rodin lay.

The latter, enraged at this perseverance, and wishing to avoid an
interview which for many reasons was singularly odious to him, turned
his face towards the wall, and pretended to be asleep. Caring little for
this feint, and determined to profit by Rodin's state of weakness, the
prelate took a chair, and, conquering his repugnance, sat down close to
the Jesuit's bed.

"My reverend and very dear father, how do you find yourself?" said he to
him, in a honeyed tone, which his Italian accent seemed to render still
more hypocritical. Rodin pretended not to hear, breathed hard, and made
no answer. But the cardinal, not without disgust, shook with his gloved
hand the arm of the Jesuit, and repeated in a louder voice: "My reverend
and very dear father, answer me, I conjure you!"

Rodin could not restrain a movement of angry impatience, but he
continued silent. The cardinal was not a man to be discouraged by so
little; he again shook the arm of the Jesuit, somewhat more roughly,
repeating, with a passionless tenacity that would have incensed the most
patient person in the world: "My reverend and very dear father, since
you are not asleep, listen to me, I entreat of you."

Irritable with pain, exasperated by the ob