at sight of this jolly little father, with such
affable manners. He would have less feared some tall, bony priest, with
austere and sepulchral countenance, for he knew that the Company loves
to deceive by the outward appearance of its agents; and if Rodin guessed
rightly, the cordial address of this personage would rather tend to show
that he was charged with some fatal mission.

Suspicious, attentive, with eye and mind on the watch, like an old wolf,
expecting an attack, Rodin advanced as usual, slowly and tortuously
towards the little man, so as to have time to examine him thoroughly,
and penetrate beneath his jovial outside. But the Roman left him no
space for that purpose. In his impetuous affection he threw himself
right on the neck of Rodin, pressed him in his arms with an effusion
of tenderness, and kissed him over and over again upon both cheeks, so
loudly and plentifully that the echo resounded through the apartment.
In his life Rodin had never been so treated. More and more uneasy at the
treachery which must needs lurk under such warm embraces, and irritated
by his own evil presentiments, the French Jesuit did, all he could to
extricate himself from the Roman's exaggerated tokens of tenderness.
But the latter kept his hold; his arms, though short, were vigorous, and
Rodin was kissed over and over again, till the little one-eyed man was
quite out of breath. It is hardly necessary to state that these embraces
were accompanied by the most friendly, affectionate, and fraternal
exclamations--all in tolerably good French, but with a strong Italian
accent, which we muss beg the reader to supply for himself, after we
have given a single specimen. It will perhaps be remembered that,
fully aware of the danger he might possibly incur by his ambitious
machinations, and knowing from history that the use of poison had often
been considered at Rome as a state necessity, Rodin, on being suddenly
attacked with the cholera, had exclaimed, with a furious glance at
Cardinal Malipieri, "I am poisoned!"

The same apprehensions occurred involuntarily to the Jesuit's mind as
he tried, by useless efforts, to escape from the embraces of the Italian
emissary; and he could not help muttering to himself, "This one-eyed
fellow is a great deal too fond. I hope there is no poison under his
Judas-kisses." At last, little Father Caboccini, being quite out
of breath, was obliged to relinquish his hold on Rodin's neck, who,
readjusting his dirt