her a sweet melancholy, to be sought instead
of shunned. For them, this adored mother was not dead--she was only
absent.

Almost as ignorant as Dagobert, with regard to devotional exercises, for
in the desert where they had lived there was neither church nor priest,
their faith, as was already said, consisted in this--that God, just and
good, had so much pity for the poor mothers whose children were left
on earth, that he allowed them to look down upon them from highest
heaven--to see them always, to hear them always, and sometimes to
send fair guardian angels to protect therein. Thanks to this guileless
illusion, the orphans, persuaded that their mother incessantly watched
over them, felt, that to do wrong would be to afflict her, and to
forfeit the protection of the good angels.--This was the entire theology
of Rose and Blanche--a creed sufficient for such pure and loving souls.

Now, on the evening in question, the two sisters chatted together whilst
waiting for Dagobert. Their theme interested them much, for, since
some days, they had a secret, a great secret, which often quickened the
beatings of their innocent hearts, often agitated their budding bosoms,
changed to bright scarlet the roses on their cheeks, and infused a
restless and dreamy langour into the soft blue of their large eyes.

Rose, this evening, occupied the edge of the couch, with her rounded
arms crossed behind her head, which was half turned towards her sister;
Blanche, with her elbow resting on the bolster, looked at her smilingly,
and said: "Do you think he will come again to-night?"

"Oh, yes! certainly. He promised us yesterday."

"He is so good, he would not break his promise."

"And so handsome, with his long fair curls."

"And his name--what a charming name!--How well it suits his face."

"And what a sweet smile and soft voice, when he says to us, taking us by
the hand: 'My children, bless God that he has given you one soul. What
others seek elsewhere, you will find in yourselves.'"

"'Since your two hearts,' he added, 'only make one.'"

"What pleasure to remember his words, sister!"

"We are so attentive! When I see you listening to him, it is as if I
saw myself, my dear little mirror!" said Rose, laughing, and kissing her
sister's forehead. "Well--when he speaks, your--or rather our eyes--are
wide, wide open, our lips moving as if we repeated every word after him.
It is no wonder we forget nothing that he says."

"And what he s