dly more than thirty."

"Then how can it be the same man, who sixteen years before, had been
with our father in the wars?"

"You are right," said Dagobert, after a moment's silence, and shrugging
his shoulders: "I may have been deceived by a chance likeness--and
yet--"

"Or, if it were the same, he could not have got older all that while."

"But did you ask him, if he had not formerly relieved our father?"

"At first I was so surprised that I did not think of it; and afterwards,
he remained so short a time, that I had no opportunity. Well, he asked
me for the village of Milosk. 'You are there, sir,' said I, 'but how
do you know that I am a Frenchman?' 'I heard you singing as I passed,'
replied he; 'could you tell me the house of Madame Simon, the general's
wife?' 'She lives here, sir.' Then looking at me for some seconds in
silence, he took me by the hand and said: 'You are the friend of General
Simon--his best friend?' Judge of my astonishment, as I answered: 'But,
sir, how do you know?' 'He has often spoken of you with gratitude.' 'You
have seen the general then?' 'Yes, some time ago, in India. I am also
his friend: I bring news of him to his wife, whom I knew to be exiled
in Siberia. At Tobolsk, whence I come, I learned that she inhabits this
village. Conduct me to her!'"

"The good traveller--I love him already," said Rose.

"Yes, being father's friend."

"I begged him to wait an instant, whilst I went to inform your mother,
so that the surprise might not do her harm; five minutes after, he was
beside her."

"And what kind of man was this traveller, Dagobert?"

"He was very tall; he wore a dark pelisse, and a fur cap, and had long
black hair."

"Was he handsome?"

"Yes, my children--very handsome; but with so mild and melancholy an
air, that it pained my heart to see him."

"Poor man! he had doubtless known some great sorrow."

"Your mother had been closeted with him for some minutes, when she
called me to her and said that she had just received good news of the
general. She was in tears, and had before her a large packet of papers;
it was a kind of journal, which your father had written every evening to
console himself; not being able to speak to her, he told the paper all
that he would have told her."

"Oh! where are these papers, Dagobert?"

"There, in the knapsack, with my cross and our purse. One day I will
give them to you: but I have picked out a few leaves here and there for
you to read