Listen to me first; you can speak afterwards."

"I listen, father."

"It is about twelve years ago, my dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny,
affectionately, "that the confessor of your adopted mother, addressing
himself to me through M. Rodin, called my attention to yourself, by
reporting the astonishing progress you had made at the school of the
Brothers. I soon found, indeed, that your excellent conduct, your gentle,
modest character, and your precocious intelligence, were worthy of the
most tender interest. From that moment I kept my eyes upon you, and at
the end of some time, seeing that you did not fall off, it appeared to me
that there was something more in you than the stuff that makes a workman.
We agreed with your adopted mother, and through my intervention, you were
admitted gratuitously to one of the schools of our Company. Thus one
burden the less weighed upon the excellent woman who had taken charge of
you, and you received from our paternal care all the benefits of a
religious education. Is not this true, my dear son?"

"It is true, father," answered Gabriel, casting down his eyes.

"As you grew up, excellent and rare virtues displayed themselves in your
character. Your obedience and mildness were above all exemplary. You made
rapid progress in your studies. I knew not then to what career you wished
to devote yourself, but I felt certain that, in every station of life,
you would remain a faithful son of the Church. I was not deceived in my
hopes, or rather, my dear son, you surpassed them all. Learning, by a
friendly communication, that your adopted mother ardently desired to see
you take orders, you acceded generously and religiously to the wish of
the excellent woman to whom you owed so much. But as the Lord is always