n good? It
is then about nineteen years ago, not far from this place--on the spot I
showed you before we arrived at the village--that the general,
dangerously wounded, fell from his horse. I was following him at the
time, and ran to his assistance. Five minutes after we were made
prisoners--and by whom think you?--by a Frenchman."

"A Frenchman?"

"Yes, an emigrant marquis, a colonel in the service of Russia," answered
Dagobert, with bitterness. "And so, when this marquis advanced towards
us, and said to the general: 'Surrender, sir, to a countryman!'--'A
Frenchman, who fights against France,' replied the general, 'is no longer
my countryman; he is a traitor, and I'd never surrender to a traitor!'
And, wounded though he was, he dragged himself up to a Russian grenadier,
and delivered him his sabre, saying: 'I surrender to you my brave
fellow!' The marquis became pale with rage at it."

The orphans looked at each other with pride, and a rich crimson mantled
their cheeks, as they exclaimed: "Oh, our brave father!"

"Ah, those children," said Dagobert, as he proudly twirled his moustache.
"One sees they have soldier's blood in their veins! Well," he continued,
"we were now prisoners. The general's last horse had been killed under
him; and, to perform the journey, he mounted Jovial, who had not been
wounded that day. We arrived at Warsaw, and there it was that the general
first saw your mother. She was called the Pearl of Warsaw; that is saying
everything. Now he, who admired all that is good and beautiful, fell in
love with her almost immediately; and she loved him in return; but her
parents had promised her to another--and that other was the same--"

Dagobert was unable to proceed. Rose uttered a piercing cry, and pointed
in terror to the window.

CHAPTER VII.

THE TRAVELER.

Upon the cry of the young girl, Dagobert rose abruptly.

"What is the matter, Rose?"

"There--there!" she said, pointing to the window. "I thought I saw a hand
move the pelisse."

She had not concluded these words before Dagobert rushed to the window
and opened it, tearing down the mantle, which had been suspended from the
fastening.

It was still dark night, and the wind was blowing hard. The soldier
listened, but could hear nothing.

Returning to fetch the lamp from the table, he shaded the flame with his
hand, and strove to throw the light outside. Still he saw nothing.
Persuaded that a gust of wind had disturbed and shaken