me 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 dirty 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 accompani