The Jesuit had now gradually recovered his presence of mind, and his apparent calmness greatly irritated M. de Montbron, who, but for Adrienne’s presence, would have assumed another tone than jests.
“There is some mistake,” said Rodin, “in what you have done me the honor to tell me, my dear young lady. I have never in my life spoken of the sentiments, however worthy and respectable, that you may entertain for Prince Djalma—”
“That is true,” replied Adrienne; “with scrupulous and exquisite discretion, whenever you spoke to me of the deep love felt by Prince Djalma, you carried your reserve and delicacy so far as to inform me that it was not I whom he loved.”
“And the same scruple induced you to tell the prince that Mdlle. de Cardoville loved some one passionately—but that he was not the person,” added the count.
“Sir,” answered Rodin, dryly, “I need hardly tell you that I have no desire to mix myself up with amorous intrigues.”
“Come! this is either pride or modesty,” said the count, insolently. “For your own interest, pray do not advance such things; for, if we took you at your word, and it became known, it might injure some of the nice little trades that you carry on.”
“There is one at least,” said Rodin, drawing himself up as proudly as M. de Montbron, “whose rude apprenticeship I shall owe to you. It is the wearisome one of listening to your discourse.”
“I tell you what, my good sir!” replied the count, disdainfully: “you force me to remind you that there are more ways than one of chastising impudent rogues.”
“My dear count!” said Adrienne to M. de Montbron, with an air of reproach.
With perfect coolness, Rodin replied: “I do not exactly see, sir, first, what courage is shown by threatening a poor old man like myself, and, secondly—”