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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 148 pages of information about The Wandering Jew Volume 01.

“That is well.  For fear of grieving you, I have always delayed the moment of telling what your poor mother would have confided to you as soon as you were no longer children.  But she died before she had time to do so, and that which I have to tell broke her heart—­as it nearly did mine.  I put off this communication as long as I could, taking for pretext that I would say nothing till we came to the field of battle where your father was made prisoner.  That gave me time; but the moment is now come; I can shuffle it off no longer.”

“We listen, Dagobert,” responded the two maidens, with an attentive and melancholy air.

After a moment’s silence, during which he appeared to reflect, the veteran thus addressed the young girls: 

“Your father, General Simon, was the son of a workman, who remained a workman; for, notwithstanding all that the general could say or do, the old man was obstinate in not quitting his trade.  He had a heart of gold and a head of iron, just like his son.  You may suppose, my children, that when your father, who had enlisted as a private soldier, became a general and a count of the empire, it was not without toil or without glory.”

“A count of the Empire! what is that, Dagobert?”

“Flummery—­a title, which the Emperor gave over and above the promotion, just for the sake of saying to the people, whom he loved because he was one of them:  Here, children!  You wish to play at nobility!  You shall be nobles.  You wish to play at royalty!  You shall be kings.  Take what you like—­nothing is too good for you—­enjoy yourselves!”

“Kings!” said the two girls, joining their hands in admiration.

“Kings of the first water.  Oh, he was no niggard of his crowns, our Emperor!  I had a bed-fellow of mine, a brave soldier, who was afterwards promoted to be king.  This flattered us; for, if it was not one, it was the other.  And so, at this game, your father became count; but, count or not, he was one of the best and bravest generals of the army.”

“He was handsome, was he not, Dagobert?—­mother always said so.”

“Oh, yes! indeed he was—­but quite another thing from your fair guardian angel.  Picture to yourself a fine, dark man, who looked splendid in his full uniform, and could put fire into the soldiers’ hearts.  With him to lead, we would have charged up into Heaven itself—­that is, if Heaven had, permitted it,” added Dagobert, not wishing to wound in any way the religious beliefs of the orphans.

“And father was as good as he was brave, Dagobert.”

“Good, my children?  Yes, I should say so!—­He could bend a horse-shoe in his hand as you would bend a card, and the day he was taken prisoner he had cut down the Prussian artillerymen on their very cannon.  With strength and courage like that, how could he be otherwise than good?  It is then about nineteen years ago, not far from this place—­on the spot I showed you before we arrived at the village—­that the general, dangerously wounded, fell from his horse.  I was following him at the time, and ran to his assistance.  Five minutes after we were made prisoners—­and by whom think you?—­by a Frenchman.”

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