er
hair, and a black ribbon she had worn round her neck. The little she
possessed had been seized by the Russian government, in pursuance of
the confiscation. Dagobert searched and researched every article--peeped
into all the corners of the portmanteau--still nothing!

This time, completely worn out, leaning against the table, the strong,
energetic man felt himself giving way. His face was burning, yet bathed
in a cold sweat; his knees trembled under him. It is a common saying,
that drowning men will catch at straws; and so it is with the
despair that still clings to some shred of hope. Catching at a last
chance--absurd, insane, impossible--he turned abruptly towards the
orphans, and said to them, without considering the alteration in
his voice and features: "I did not give them to you--to keep for
me?--speak?"

Instead of answering, Rose and Blanche, terrified at his paleness and
the expression of his countenance, uttered a cry. "Good heavens! what is
the matter with you?" murmured Rose.

"Have you got them--yes, or no?" cried in a voice of thunder the
unfortunate, distracted man. "If you have not--I'll take the first knife
I meet with, and stick it into my body!"

"Alas! You are so good: pardon us if we have done anything to afflict
you! You love us so much, you would not do us any harm." The orphans
began to weep, as they stretched forth their hands in supplication
towards the soldier.

He looked at them with haggard eye, without even seeing them; till, as
the delusion passed away, the reality presented itself to his mind with
all its terrible consequences. Then he clasped his hands together, fell
on his knees before the bed of the orphans, leaned his forehead upon
it, and amid his convulsive sobs--for the man of iron sobbed like a
child--these broken words were audible: "Forgive me--forgive!--I do not
know how it can be!--Oh! what a misfortune!--what a misfortune!--Forgive
me!"

At this outbreak of grief, the cause of which they understood not, but
which in such a man was heart-rending, the two sisters wound their arms
about his old gray head, and exclaimed amid their tears: "Look at us!
Only tell us what is the matter with you?--Is it our fault?"

At this instant, the noise of footsteps resounded from the stairs,
mingled with the barking of Spoil-sport, who had remained outside the
door. The nearer the steps approached, the more furious became the
barking; it was no doubt accompanied with hostile demonstr