t he,
who thought to have held the fate of Rodin in his hands, had been brought
by the latter into a fearful peril; for he knew that, the two outer rooms
being closed, there was no possibility of making himself heard, and that
the high walls of the garden only bordered upon some vacant lots. The
first thought which occurred to him, one by no means destitute of
probability, was that Rodin, either by his agents at Rome, or by his own
incredible penetration, had learned that his fate depended on Father
d'Aigrigny, and hoped therefore to get rid of him, by delivering him over
to the inexorable vengeance of the father of Rose and Blanche. Without
speaking a word, the marshal unbound the handkerchief from his waist,
laid the two swords upon the table, and, folding his arms upon his
breast, advanced slowly towards Father d'Aigrigny. Thus these two men,
who through life had pursued each other with implacable hatred, at length
met face to face--they, who had fought in hostile armies, and measured
swords in single combat, and one of whom now came to seek vengeance for
the death of his children. As the marshal approached, Father d'Aigrigny
rose from his seat. He wore that day a black cassock, which rendered
still more visible the pale hue, which had now succeeded to the sudden
flush on his cheek. For a few seconds, the two men stood face to face
without speaking. The marshal was terrific in his paternal despair. His
calmness, inexorable as fate, was more impressive than the most furious
burst of anger.

"My children are dead," said he at last, in a slow and hollow tone. "I
come to kill you."

"Sir," cried Father d'Aigrigny, "listen to me. Do not believe--"

"I must kill you," resumed the marshal, interrupting the Jesuit; "your
hate followed my wife into exile, where she perished. You and your
accomplices sent my children to certain death. For twenty years you have
been my evil genius. I must have your life, and I will have it."

"My life belongs, first, to God," answered Father d'Aigrigny, piously,
"and then to who likes to take it."

"We will fight to the death in this room," said the marshal; "and, as I
have to avenge my wife and children, I am tranquil as to the result."

"Sir," answered Father d'Aigrigny, coldly, "you forget that my profession
forbids me to fight. Once I accepted your challenge--but my position is
changed since then."

"Ah!" said the marshal, with a bitter smile; "you refuse to fight because
you are a