rers, fanned the flames. When M.
Hardy had left the factory, Rodin, who was not prepared for this
sudden departure, returned slowly to his hackney-coach; but he stopped
suddenly, and started with pleasure and surprise, when he saw, at some
distance, Marshall Simon and his father advancing towards one of the
wings of the Common Dwelling-house; for an accidental circumstance had
so far delayed the interview of the father and son.

"Very well!" said Rodin. "Better and better! Now, only let my man have
found out and persuaded little Rose-Pompon!"

And Rodin hastened towards his hackney-coach. At this moment, the wind,
which continued to rise, brought to the ear of the Jesuit the war song
of the approaching Wolves.

The workman was in the garden. The marshal said to him, in a voice of
such deep emotion that the old man started; "Father, I am very unhappy."

A painful expression, until then concealed, suddenly darkened the
countenance of the marshal.

"You unhappy?" cried father Simon, anxiously, as he pressed nearer to
the marshal.

"For some days, my daughters have appeared constrained in manner, and
lost in thought. During the first moments of our re-union, they were
mad with joy and happiness. Suddenly, all has changed; they are becoming
more and more sad. Yesterday, I detected tears in their eyes; then
deeply moved, I clasped them in my arms, and implored them to tell me
the cause of their sorrow. Without answering, they threw themselves on
my neck, and covered my face with their tears."

"It is strange. To what do you attribute this alteration?"

"Sometimes, I think I have not sufficiently concealed from them the
grief occasioned me by the loss of their mother, and they are
perhaps miserable that they do not suffice for my happiness. And yet
(inexplicable as it is) they seem not only to understand, but to share
my sorrow. Yesterday, Blanche said to me: 'How much happier still should
we be, if our mother were with us!--'"

"Sharing your sorrow, they cannot reproach you with it. There must be
some other cause for their grief."

"Yes," said the marshal, looking fixedly at his father; "yes--but to
penetrate this secret--it would be necessary not to leave them."

"What do you mean?"

"First learn, father, what are the duties which would keep me here; then
you shall know those which may take me away from you, from my daughters,
and from my other child."

"What other child?"

"The son of my old friend, the In