and more astonished as he proceeded.

"Is it not strange--this man with a black seam on his forehead?"

"Well, you shall hear. The general had, as I told you, been left for dead
at Waterloo. During the night which he passed on the field of battle, in
a sort of delirium brought on by the fever of his wounds, he saw, or
fancied he saw, this same man bending over him, with a look of great
mildness and deep melancholy, stanching his wounds, and using every
effort to revive him. But as your father, whose senses were still
wandering, repulsed his kindness saying, that after such a defeat, it
only remained to die--it appeared as if this man replied to him; 'You
must live for Eva!' meaning your mother, whom the general had left at
Warsaw, to join the Emperor, and make this campaign of France."

"How strange, Dagobert!--And since then, did our father never see this
man?"

"Yes, he saw him--for it was he who brought news of the general to your
poor mother."

"When was that? We never heard of it."

"You remember that, on the day your mother died, you went to the pine
forest with old Fedora?"

"Yes," answered Rose, mournfully; "to fetch some heath, of which our
mother was so fond."

"Poor mother!" added Blanche; "she appeared so well that morning, that we
could not dream of the calamity which awaited us before night."

"True, my children; I sang and worked that morning in the garden,
expecting, no more than you did, what was to happen. Well, as I was
singing at my work, on a sudden I heard a voice ask me in French: 'Is
this the village of Milosk?'--I turned round, and saw before me a
stranger; I looked at him attentively, and, instead of replying, fell
back two steps, quite stupefied."

"Ah, why?"

"He was of tall stature, very pale, with a high and open forehead; but
his eyebrows met, and seemed to form one black streak across it."

"Then it was the same man who had twice been with our father in battle?"

"Yes--it was he."

"But, Dagobert," said Rose, thoughtfully, "is it not a long time since
these battles?"

"About sixteen years."

"And of what age was this stranger?"

"Hardly more than thirty."

"Then how can it be the same man, who sixteen years before, had been with
our father in the wars?"

"You are right," said Dagobert, after a moment's silence, and shrugging
his shoulders: "I may have been deceived by a chance likeness--and yet--"

"Or, if it were the same, he could not have got older all that wh