e, and, folding his arms, and
scanning him from head to foot with bitter insolence, said to him: "So!
an old soldier of that arch-robber, Napoleon, is only fit for a
washerwoman, and refuses to fight!"

"Yes, he refuses to fight," answered Dagobert, in a firm voice, but
becoming fearfully pale. Never, perhaps, had the soldier given to his
orphan charge such a proof of tenderness and devotion. For a man of his
character to let himself be insulted with impunity, and refuse to
fight--the sacrifice was immense.

"So you are a coward--you are afraid of me--and you confess it?"

At these words Dagobert made, as it were, a pull upon himself--as if a
sudden thought had restrained him the moment he was about to rush on the
Prophet. Indeed, he had remembered the two maidens, and the fatal
hindrance which a duel, whatever might be the result, would occasion to
their journey. But the impulse of anger, though rapid, had been so
significant--the expression of the stern, pale face, bathed in sweat, was
so daunting, that the Prophet and the spectators drew back a step.

Profound silence reigned for some seconds, and then, by a sudden
reaction, Dagobert seemed to have gained the general interest. One of the
company said to those near him; "This man is clearly not a coward."

"Oh, no! certainly not."

"It sometimes requires more courage to refuse a challenge than to accept
one."

"After all the Prophet was wrong to pick a quarrel about nothing--and
with a stranger, too."

"Yes, for a stranger, if he fought and was taken up, would have a good
long imprisonment."

"And then, you see," added another, "he travels with two young girls. In
such a position, ought a man to fight about trifles? If he should be
killed or put in prison, what would become of them, poor children?"

Dagobert turned towards the person who had pronounced these last words.
He saw a stout fellow, with a frank and simple countenance; the soldier
offered him his hand, and said with emotion:

"Thank you, sir."

The German shook cordially the hand, which Dagobert had proffered, and,
holding it still in his own, he added: "Do one thing, sir--share a bowl
of punch with us. We will make that mischief-making Prophet acknowledge
that he has been too touchy, and he shall drink to your health."

Up to this moment the brute-tamer, enraged at the issue of this scene,
for he had hoped that the soldier would accept his challenge, looked on
with savage contempt at those w