confidence, which I once
enjoyed, while now I am treated like a stranger. Why is it? What has
occasioned this change?'--Still cold and reserved, he answered: 'These
distinctions are so nice, marshal, that it is impossible for me to give
you any opinion on the subject.'--My heart swelled with grief and anger.
What was I to do? To quarrel with D'Havrincourt would have been absurd.
A sense of dignity forced me to break off the interview, but it has
only confirmed my fears. Thus," added the marshal, getting more and more
animated, "thus am I fallen from the esteem to which I am entitled, thus
am I despised, without even knowing the cause! Is it not odious? If
they would only utter a charge against me--I should at least be able to
defend myself, and to find an answer. But no, no! not even a word--only
the cold politeness that is worse than any insult. Oh! it is too much,
too much! for all this comes but in addition to other cares. What a
life is mine since the death of my father! If I did but find rest and
happiness at home--but no! I come in, but to read shameful letters; and
still worse," added the marshal, in a heartrending tone, and after a
moment's hesitation, "to find my children grow more and more indifferent
towards me--"Yes," continued he, perceiving the amazement of Dagobert,
"and yet they know how much I love them!"

"Your daughters indifferent!" exclaimed Dagobert, in astonishment. "You
make them such a reproach?"

"Oh! I do not blame them. They have hardly had time to know me."

"Not had time to know you?" returned the soldier, in a tone of
remonstrance, and warming up in his turn. "Ah! of what did their mother
talk to them, except you? and I too! what could I teach your children
except to know and love you?"

"You take their part--that is natural--they love you better than they do
me," said the marshal, with growing bitterness. Dagobert felt himself so
painfully affected, that he looked at the marshal without answering.

"Yes!" continued the other; "yes! it may be base and ungrateful--but no
matter!--Twenty times I have felt jealous of the affectionate confidence
which my children display towards you, while with me they seem always to
be in fear. If their melancholy faces ever grow animated for a moment,
it is in talking to you, in seeing you; while for me they have nothing
but cold respect--and that kills me. Sure of the affection of my
children, I would have braved and surmounted every difficulty--" Then