dreadful fate; and he asked himself with alarm, how it was that the
detestable interests of the Society of Loyola should be served by a
providential fatality? The astonishment of the young missionary would
have given place to the deepest horror, could he have known the part that
Rodin and his accomplices had taken, both in the death of Jacques
Rennepont, by exciting, through Morok, the evil propensities of the
artisan, and in the approaching end of Rose and Blanche, by converting,
through the Princess de Saint-Dizier, the generous inspirations of the
orphans into suicidal heroism.

Roused for a moment from the painful stupor in which they had been
plunged, Rose and Blanche half-opened their large eyes, already dull and
faded. Then, more and more bewildered they both gazed fixedly at the
angelic countenance of Gabriel.

"Sister," said Rose, in a faint voice, "do you see the archangel--as in
our dreams, in Germany?"

"Yes--three days ago--he appeared to us."

"He is come to fetch us."

"Alas! will our death save our poor mother from purgatory?"

"Angel! blessed angel! pray God for our mother--and for us!" Until now,
stupefied with amazement and sorrow, almost suffocated with sobs, Gabriel
had not been able to utter a word. But at these words of the orphans, he
exclaimed: "Dear children, why doubt of your mother's salvation? Oh!
never did a purer soul ascend to its Creator. Your mother? I know from my
adopted father, that her virtues and courage were the admiration of all