l.
Ever and anon, Dagobert looked around him, and seemed to be gathering up
old recollections; by degrees, his countenance became clouded, and when
he was at a little distance from the mill, the noise of which had
arrested his attention, he stopped, and drew his long moustache several
times between his finger and thumb, the only sign which revealed in him
any strong and concentrated feeling.

Jovial, having stopped short behind his master, Blanche, awakened
suddenly by the shock, raised her head; her first look sought her sister,
on whom she smiled sweetly; then both exchanged glances of surprise, on
seeing Dagobert motionless, with his hands clasped and resting on his
long staff, apparently affected by some painful and deep emotion.

The orphans just chanced to be at the foot of a little mound, the summit
of which was buried in the thick foliage of a huge oak, planted half way
down the slope. Perceiving that Dagobert continued motionless and
absorbed in thought, Rose leaned over her saddle, and, placing her little
white hand on the shoulder of their guide, whose back was turned towards
her, said to him, in a soft voice, "Whatever is the matter with you,
Dagobert?"

The veteran turned; to the great astonishment of the sisters, they
perceived a large tear, which traced its humid furrow down his tanned
cheek, and lost itself in his thick moustache.

"You weeping--you!" cried Rose and Blanche together, deeply moved. "Tell
us, we beseech, what is the matter?"

After a moments hesitation, the soldier brushed his horny hand across his
eyes, and said to the orphans in a faltering voice, whilst he pointed to
the old oak beside them: "I shall make you sad, my poor children: and yet
what I'm going to tell you has something sacred in it. Well, eighteen
years ago, on the eve of the great battle of Leipsic, I carried your
father to this very tree. He had two sabre-cuts on the head, a musket
ball in his shoulder; and it was here that he and I--who had got two
thrust of a lance for my share--were taken prisoners; and by whom, worse
luck?--why, a renegado! By a Frenchman--an emigrant marquis, then colonel
in the service of Russia--and who afterwards--but one day you shall know
all."

The veteran paused; then, pointing with his staff to the village of
Mockern, he added: "Yes, yes, I can recognize the spot. Yonder are the
heights where your brave father--who commanded us, and the Poles of the
Guard--overthrew the Russian Cuirassie