“Then blessed be my poor old hand for having restored you the glorious treasure!” said Rodin, with emotion. “In truth,” he added, “the day will be a good one for everybody—as I announced to you this morning in my letter.”
“That letter without a signature?” asked the soldier, more and more astonished. “Was it from you?”
“It was I who wrote it. Only, fearing some new snare of the Abbe d’Aigrigny, I did not choose, you understand, to explain myself more clearly.”
“Then—I shall see—my orphans?”
Rodin nodded affirmatively, with an expression of great good-nature.
“Presently—perhaps immediately,” said Adrienne, with smile. “Well! was I right in telling you that you had not judged this gentleman fairly?”
“Why did he not tell me this when I came in?” cried Dagobert, almost beside himself with joy.
“There was one difficulty in the way, my good friend,” said Rodin; “it was, that when you came in, you nearly throttled me.”
“True; I was too hasty. Once more, I ask your pardon. But was I to blame? I had only seen you with that Abbe d’Aigrigny, and in the first moment—”
“This dear young lady,” said Rodin, bowing to Adrienne, “will tell you that I have been, without knowing it, the accomplice IN many perfidious actions; but as soon as I began to see my way through the darkness, I quitted the evil course on which I had entered, and returned to that which is honest, just and true.”