with the monomania of evil and
destruction, felt, as may be imagined, a profound admiration for Rodin,
who exercised over him a kind of magnetic fascination. The half-caste,
almost a wild beast in human form, saw something supernatural in the
infernal genius of Rodin. And the latter, too sagacious not to have
discovered the savage devotion of this wretch, had made, as we have
seen, good use of him, is bringing about the tragical termination of the
loves of Adrienne and Djalma. But what excited to an incredible degree
the admiration of Faringhea, was what he knew of the Society of
Jesus. This immense, occult power, which undermined the world by its
subterraneous ramifications, and reached its ends by diabolical means,
had inspired the half-caste with a wild enthusiasm. And if anything in
the world surpassed his fanatical admiration for Rodin, it was his blind
devotion to the Company of Ignatius de Loyola, which, as he said, could
make corpses that walk about. Hid in the shadow of the organ-loft,
Faringhea was reflecting deeply on these things, when footsteps were
heard, and Rodin entered the chapel, accompanied by his socius, the
little one-eyed father.

Whether from absence of mind, or that the shadow of the orange-loft
completely concealed the half-caste, Rodin dipped his fingers into the
font without perceiving Faringhea, who stood motionless as a statue,
though a cold sweat streamed from his brow. The prayer of Rodin was,
as may be supposed, short; he was in haste to get to the Rue
Saint-Francois. After kneeling down with Father Caboccini for a few
seconds, he rose, bowed respectfully to the altar, and returned towards
the door, followed by his socius. At the moment Rodin approached the
font he perceived the tall figure of the half-caste standing out from
the midst of the dark shadow; advancing a little, Faringhea bowed
respectfully to Rodin, who said to him, in a low voice; "Come to me at
two o'clock."

So saying, Rodin stretched forth his hand to dip it into the holy water;
but Faringhea spared him the trouble, by offering him the sprinkling
brush, which generally stood in the font.

Pressing between his dirty fingers the damp hairs of the brush,
which the half-caste held by the handle, Rodin wetted his thumb and
forefinger, and, according to custom, traced the sign of the cross upon
his forehead. Then, opening the door of the chapel, he went out, after
again repeating to Faringhea: "Come to me at two o'clock."