so much--in the everlasting flames!" murmured Hardy, shuddering, and
apparently insensible to the other's words.

"But, my dear sir, listen to me, I entreat you," resumed the latter;
"let me finish my story, and then you will find it as consoling as it
now seems terrible. For heaven's sake, remember the adorable words of
our angelic Abbe Gabriel, with regard to the sweetness of prayer."

At the name of Gabriel, Hardy recovered himself a little, and exclaimed,
in a heart-rending tone: "Ay! his words were sweet and beneficent. Where
are they now? For mercy's sake, repeat to me those consoling words."

"Our angelic Abbe Gabriel," resumed Rodin, "spoke to you of the
sweetness of prayer--"

"Oh, yes! prayer!"

"Well, my dear sir, listen to me, and you shall see how prayer saved
Rancey, and made a saint of him. Yes, these frightful torments, that I
have just described, these threatening visions, were all conquered by
prayer, and changed into celestial delights."

"I beg of you," said Hardy, in a faint voice, "speak to me of Gabriel,
speak to me of heaven--but no more flames--no more hell--where sinful
women weep tears of blood--"

"No, no," replied Rodin; and even as, in describing hell, his tone had
been harsh and threatening, it now became warm and tender, as he uttered
the following words: "No; we will have no more images of despair--for,
as I have told you, after suffering infernal tortures, Rancey, thanks to
the power of prayer, enjoyed the delights of paradise."

"The delights of paradise?" repeated Hardy, listening with anxious
attention.

"One day, at the height of his grief, a priest, a good priest--another
Abbe Gabriel--came to Rancey. Oh, happiness! oh, providential change! In
a few days, he taught the sufferer the sacred mysteries of prayer--that
pious intercession of the creature, addressed to the Creator, in
favor of a soul exposed to the wrath of heaven. Then Rancey seemed
transformed. His grief was at once appeased. He prayed; and the more
he prayed, the greater was his hope. He felt that God listened to his
prayer. Instead of trying to forget his beloved, he now thought of her
constantly, and prayed for her salvation. Happy in his obscure cell,
alone with that adored remembrance, he passed days and nights in praying
for her--plunged in an ineffable, burning, I had almost said amorous
ecstasy."

It is impossible to give an idea of the tone of almost sensual energy
with which Rodin pronounced the w