y collar, and his old cravat and waistcoat, somewhat
in disorder in consequence of this hurricane of caresses, said in a
gruff tone, "Your humble servant, father, but you need not kiss quite so
hard."

Without making any answer to this reproach, the little father riveted
his one eye upon Rodin with an expression of enthusiasm, and exclaimed,
whilst he accompanied his words with petulant gestures, "At lazt I
zee te zuperb light of our zacred Company, and can zalute him from my
heart--vonse more, vonse more."

As the little father had already recovered his breath, and was about to
rush once again into Rodin's arms, the latter stepped back hastily, and
held out his arm to keep him off, saying, in allusion to the illogical
metaphor employed by Father Caboccini, "First of all, father, one
does not embrace a light--and then I am not a light--I am a humble and
obscure laborer in the Lord's vineyard."

The Roman replied with enthusiasm (we shall henceforth translate his
gibberish), "You are right, father, we cannot embrace a light, but we
can prostrate ourselves before it, and admire its dazzling brightness."

So saying, Caboccini was about to suit the action to the word, and to
prostrate himself before Rodin, had not the latter prevented this mode
of adulation by seizing the Roman by the arm and exclaiming, "This is
mere idolatry, father. Pass over my qualities, and tell me what is the
object of your journey."

"The object, my dear father, fills me with joy and happiness. I have
endeavored to show you my affection by my caresses, for my heart is
overflowing. I have hardly been able to restrain myself during my
journey hither, for my heart rushed to meet you. The object transports,
delights, enchants me--"

"But what enchants you?" cried Rodin, exasperated by these Italian
exaggerations. "What is the object?"

"This rescript of our very reverend and excellent General will inform
you, my clear father."

Caboccini drew from his pocket-book a folded paper, with three seals,
which he kissed respectfully, and delivered to Rodin, who himself kissed
it in his turn, and opened it with visible anxiety. While he read it the
countenance of the Jesuit remained impassible, but the pulsation of the
arteries on his temples announced his internal agitation. Yet he put the
letter coolly into his pocket, and looking at the Roman, said to him,
"Be it as our excellent General has commanded!"

"Then, father," cried Caboccini, with a new