her; and, however kind a father may be, he must always command some
respect. Familiar with me! I should think so. A fine story! What the
devil should they respect in me, who, except that I am six feet high, and
wear a moustache, might pass for the old woman that nursed them?--and
then I must say, that, even before the death of your worthy father, you
were sad and full of thought; the children have remarked that; and what
you take for coldness on their part, is, I am sure, anxiety for you.
Come, general; you are not just. You complain, because they love you too
much."

"I complain, because I suffer," said the marshal, in an agony of
excitement. "I alone know my sufferings."

"They must indeed be grievous, general," said Dagobert, carried further
than he would otherwise have gone by his attachment for the orphans,
"since those who love you feel them so cruelly."

"What, sir! more reproaches?"

"Yes, general, reproaches," cried Dagobert. "Your children have the right
to complain of you, since you accuse them so unjustly."

"Sir," said the marshal, scarcely able to contain himself, "this is
enough--this is too much!"

"Oh, yes! it is enough," replied Dagobert, with rising emotion. "Why
defend unfortunate children, who can only love and submit? Why defend
them against your unhappy blindness?"

The marshal started with anger and impatience, but then replied, with a
forced calmness: "I needs must remember all that I owe you--and I will
not forget it, say what you will."

"But, general," cried Dagobert, "why will you not let me fetch your
children?"

"Do you not see that this scene is killing me?" cried the exasperated
marshal. "Do you not understand, that I will not have my children witness
what I suffer? A father's grief has its dignity, sir; and you ought to
feel for and respect it."

"Respect it? no--not when it is founded on injustice!"

"Enough, sir--enough!"

"And not content with tormenting yourself," cried Dagobert, unable any
longer to control his feelings, "do you know what you will do? You will
make your children die of sorrow. Was it for this, that I brought them to
you from the depths of Siberia?"

"More reproaches!"

"Yes; for the worst ingratitude towards me, is to make your children
unhappy."

"Leave the room, sir!" cried the marshal, quite beside himself, and so
terrible with rage and grief, that Dagobert, regretting that he had gone
so far, resumed: "I was wrong, general. I have perhaps be