of God,' as our Constitution has it."

"I know it," cried Gabriel; "I know it. 'Tis in the name of all that is
most sacred amongst men, that we are encouraged to do evil."

"My dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny, trying to conceal his secret and
growing terror beneath an appearance of wounded dignity, "from you to me
these words are at least strange."

At this, Rodin quitted the mantelpiece, on which he had been leaning,
begin to walk up and down the room, with a meditative air, and without
ceasing to bite his nails.

"It is cruel to be obliged to remind you, my dear son, that your are
indebted to us for the education you have received," added Father
d'Aigrigny.

"Such were its fruits, father," replied Gabriel. "Until then I had been a
spy on the other children, from a sort of disinterestedness; but the
orders of the superior made me advance another step on that shameful
road. I had become an informer, to escape a merited punishment. And yet,
such was my faith, my humility, my confidence, that I performed with
innocence and candor this doubly odious part. Once, indeed, tormented by
vague scruples, the last remains of generous aspirations that they were
stifling within me, I asked myself if the charitable and religious end
could justify the means, and I communicated my doubts to the superior. He
replied, that I had not to judge, but to obey, and that to him alone
belonged the responsibility of my acts."

"Go on, my dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny, gelding, in spite of
himself, to the deepest dejection. "Alas! I was right in opposing your
travel to America."

"And yet it was the will of Providence, in that new, productive, and free
country, that, enlightened by a singular chance, on past and present, my
eyes were at length opened. Yes!" cried Gabriel, "it was in America that,
released from the gloomy abode where I had spent so many years of my
youth, and finding myself for the first time face to face with the divine
majesty of Nature, in the heart of immense solitudes through which I
journeyed--it was there that, overcome by so much magnificence and
grandeur, I made a vow--" Here Gabriel interrupted himself, to continue:
"Presently, father, I will explain to you that vow; but believe me,"
added the missionary, with an accent of deep sorrow, "it was a fatal day
to me when I first learned to fear and condemn all that I had hitherto
most revered and blessed. Oh! I assure you father," added Gabriel, with
moist eyes,