“Yes, father.”
“So, my son, there is to be henceforth nothing in common between you and our Company?”
“No, father—since I request you to absolve me of my vows.”
“But, you know, my son, that the Society may release you—but that you cannot release yourself.”
“The step I take proves to you, father, the importance I attach to an oath, since I come to you to release me from it. Nevertheless, were you to refuse me, I should not think myself bound in the eyes of God or man.”
“It is perfectly clear,” said Father d’Aigrigny to Rodin, his voice expiring upon his lips, so deep was his despair.
Suddenly, whilst Gabriel, with downcast eyes, waited for the answer of Father d’Aigrigny, who remained mute and motionless, Rodin appeared struck with a new idea, on perceiving that the reverend father still held in his hand the note written in pencil. The socius hastily approached Father d’Aigrigny, and said to him in a whisper, with a look of doubt and alarm: “Have you not read my note?”
“I did not think of it,” answered the reverend father, mechanically.
Rodin appeared to make a great effort to repress a movement of violent rage. Then he said to Father d’Aigrigny, in a calm voice: “Read it now.”
Hardly had the reverend father cast his eyes upon this note, than a sudden ray of hope illumined his hitherto despairing countenance. Pressing the hand of the socius with an expression of deep gratitude, he said to him in a low voice: “You are right. Gabriel is ours.”