my dear! why ask me these questions? I cannot answer you."

"Will they come back here?"

"I do not know."

Dagobert started up; his patience was once more exhausted. But, after
taking a few turns in the room, he again seated himself as before.

"After all," said he to his wife, "you have no interest to conceal from
me what is become of the children. Why refuse to let me know?"

"I cannot do otherwise."

"I think you will change your opinion, when you know something that I
am now forced to tell you. Listen to me well!" added Dagobert, in an
agitated voice; "if these children are not restored to me before the
13th of February--a day close at hand--I am in the position of a
man that would rob the daughters of Marshal Simon--rob them, d'ye
understand?" said the soldier, becoming more and more agitated. Then,
with an accent of despair which pierced Frances's heart, he continued:
"And yet I have done all that an honest man could do for those poor
children--you cannot tell what I have had to suffer on the road--my
cares, my anxieties--I, a soldier, with the charge of two girls. It was
only by strength of heart, by devotion, that I could go through with
it--and when, for my reward, I hoped to be able to say to their father:
'Here are your children!--'" The soldier paused. To the violence of his
first emotions had succeeded a mournful tenderness; he wept.

At sight of the tears rolling slowly down Dagobert's gray moustache,
Frances felt for a moment her resolution give way; but, recalling
the oath which she had made to her confessor, and reflecting that the
eternal salvation of the orphans was at stake, she reproached herself
inwardly with this evil temptation, which would no doubt be severely
blamed by Abbe Dubois. She answered, therefore, in a trembling voice:
"How can they accuse you of robbing these children?"

"Know," resumed Dagobert, drawing his hand across his eyes, "that if
these young girls have braved so many dangers, to come hither, all the
way from Siberia, it is that great interests are concerned--perhaps
an immense fortune--and that, if they are not present on the 13th
February--here, in Paris, Rue Saint Francois--all will be lost--and
through my fault--for I am responsible for your actions."

"The 13th February? Rue Saint Francois?" cried Frances, looking at her
husband with surprise. "Like Gabriel!"

"What do you say about Gabriel?"

"When I took him in (poor deserted child!), he wore a bronze medal