heel of his clumsy, greasy shoes, crossed his hands beneath the flaps of
his old, spotted coat, and, lifting his head, looked fixedly at Father
d'Aigrigny. The socius had not spoken a word, but his hideous
countenance, now flushed, suddenly revealed such a sense of his
superiority, and such sovereign contempt for Father d'Aigrigny, mingled
with so calm and serene a daring, that the reverend father and the
princess were quite confounded by it. They felt themselves overawed by
this little old man, so sordid and so ugly. Father d'Aigrigny knew too
well the customs of the Company, to believe his humble secretary capable
of assuming so suddenly these airs of transcendent superiority without a
motive, or rather, without a positive right. Late, too late, the reverend
father perceived, that this subordinate agent might be partly a spy,
partly an experienced assistant, who, according to the constitutions of
the Order, had the power and mission to depose and provisionally replace,
in certain urgent cases, the incapable person over whom he was stationed
as a guard. The reverend father was not deceived. From the general to the
provincials, and to the rectors of the colleges, all the superior members
of the Order have stationed near them, often without their knowledge, and
in apparently the lowest capacities, men able to assume their functions
at any given moment, and who, with this view, constantly keep up a direct
correspondence with Rome.

From the moment Rodin had assumed this position, the manners of Father
d'Aigrigny, generally so haughty, underwent a change. Though it cost him
a good deal, he said with hesitation, mingled with deference: "You have,
no doubt, the right to command me--who hitherto have commanded." Rodin,
without answering, drew from his well-rubbed and greasy pocket-book a
slip of paper, stamped upon both sides, on which were written several
lines in Latin. When he had read it, Father d'Aigrigny pressed this paper
respectfully, even religiously, to his lips: then returned it to Rodin,