devours my entrails. No doubt, they have tried to poison me.
But when? but how?"

After another pause, Rodin again cried out, in a stifled voice: "Help!
help me, you that stand looking on--like, spectres!--Help me, I say!"

Horror-struck at this dreadful agony, Samuel and Father Caboccini were
unable to stir.

"Help!" repeated Rodin, in a tone of strangulation, "This poison is
horrible.--But how--" Then, with a terrific cry of rage, as if a sudden
idea had struck him, he exclaimed: "Ha! Faringhea--this morning--the
holy water--he knows such subtle poisons. Yes--it is he--he had an
interview with Malipieri. The demon!--Oh! it was well played. The
Borgias are still the same. Oh! it is all over. I die. They will regret
me, the fools!--Oh! hell! hell! The Church knows not its loss--but I
burn--help!"

They came to his assistance. Quick steps were heard upon the stairs, and
Dr. Baleinier, followed by the Princess de Saint-Dizier, appeared at the
entrance of the Hall of Mourning. The princess had learned vaguely that
morning the death of Father d'Aigrigny, and had come to question Rodin
upon the subject. When this woman, entering the room, suddenly saw the
frightful spectacle that offered itself to her view--when she saw
Rodin writhing in horrible agony, and, further on, by the light of the
sepulchral lamp, those six corpses--and, amongst them, her own niece,
and the two orphans whom she had sent to meet their death--she stood
petrified with horror, and her reason was unable to withstand the shock.
She looked slowly round her, and then raised her arms on high, and burst
into a wild fit of laughter. She had gone mad. Whilst Dr. Baleinier
supported the head of Rodin, who expired in his arms, Faringhea appeared
at the door; remaining in the shade, he cast a ferocious glance at
the corpse of the Jesuit. "He would have made himself the chief of the
Company of Jesus, to destroy it," said he; "with me, the Company of
Jesus stands in the place of Bowanee. I have obeyed the cardinal!"

(44) Should this appear incredible, we would remind the reader of
the marvellous discoveries in the art of embalming--particularly Dr.
Gannal's.

EPILOGUE.

CHAPTER I. FOUR YEARS AFTER.

Four years had elapsed, since the events we have just related,
when Gabriel de Rennepont wrote the following letter to Abbe Joseph
Charpentier, curate of the Parish of Saint-Aubin, a hamlet of Sologne:

"Springwater Farm, "June 2d, 1836.

"Inten