“Flatter you?--a poor old man like myself has something else to think of. But to come to business: there is a room here which is called the Green Chamber?” “Yes, sir; the room which the late Count-Duke de Cardoville used for a study.” “You will have the goodness to take me there.” “Unfortunately, it is not in my power to do so. After the death of the Count-Duke, and when the seals were removed, a number of papers were shut up in a cabinet in that room, and the lawyers took the keys with them to Paris.” “Here are those keys,” said M. Rodin, showing to the bailiff a large and a small key tied together. “Oh, sir! that is different. You come to look for papers?” “Yes--for certain papers--and also far a small mahogany casket, with silver clasps--do you happen to know it?” “Yes, sir; I have often seen it on the count’s writing-table. It must be in the large, lacquered cabinet, of which you have the key.” “You will conduct me to this chamber, as authorized by the Princess de Saint-Dizier?” “Yes, sir; the princess continues in good health?” “Perfectly so. She lives altogether above worldly things.” “And Mademoiselle Adrienne?” “Alas, my dear sir!” said M. Rodin, with a sigh of deep contrition and grief. “Good heaven, sir! has any calamity happened to Mademoiselle Adrienne?” “In what sense do you mean it?” “Is she ill?” “No, no--she is, unfortunately, as well as she is beautiful.” “Unfortunately!” cried the bailiff, in surprise. “Alas, yes! for when beauty, youth, and health are joined to an evil spirit of revolt and perversity--to a character which certainly has not its equal upon earth--it would be far better to be deprived of those dangerous advantages, which only become so many causes of perdition. But I conjure you, my dear sir, let us talk of something else: this subject is too painful,” said M. Rodin, with a voice of deep emotion, lifting the tip of his little finger to the corner of his right eye, as if to stop a rising tear. The bailiff did not see the tear, but he saw the gesture, and he was struck with the change in M. Rodin’s voice. He answered him, therefore, with much sympathy: “Pardon my indiscretion, sir; I really did not know--” “It is I who should ask pardon for this involuntary display of feeling--tears are so rare with old men--but if you had seen, as I have, the despair of that excellent princess, whose only fault has been too much kindness, too much weakness, with regard to her niece--by which she has encouraged her--but, once more, let us talk of something else, my dear sir!”