Forgot your password?  

Resources for students & teachers

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 1,533 pages of information about The Wandering Jew Complete.

“Nay, what we tell you is quite true.”

“You know we never tell stories,” added Rose.

“They are right—­they never fib,” said the soldier, in renewed perplexity.

“But how the devil is such a visit possible?  I sleep before your door—­Spoil-sport sleeps under your window—­and all the blue eyes and fair locks in the world must come in by one of those two ways—­and, if they had tried it, the dog and I, who have both of us quick ears, would have received their visits after our fashion.  But come, children! pray, speak to the purpose.  Explain yourselves!”

The two sisters, who saw, by the expression of Dagobert’s countenance, that he felt really uneasy, determined no longer to trifle with his kindness.  They exchanged a glance, and Rose, taking in her little hand the coarse, broad palm of the veteran, said to him:  “Come, do not plague yourself!  We will tell you all about the visits of our friend, Gabriel.”

“There you are again!—­He has a name, then?”

“Certainly, he has a name.  It is Gabriel.”

“Is it not a pretty name, Dagobert?  Oh, you will see and love, as we do, our beautiful Gabriel!”

“I’ll love your beautiful Gabriel, will I?” said the veteran, shaking his head—­“Love your beautiful Gabriel?—­that’s as it may be.  I must first know—­” Then, interrupting himself, he added:  “It is queer.  That reminds me of something.”

“Of what, Dagobert?”

“Fifteen years ago, in the last letter that your father, on his return from France, brought me from my wife:  she told me that, poor as she was, and with our little growing Agricola on her hands, she had taken in a poor deserted child, with the face of a cherub, and the name of Gabriel—­and only a short time since I heard of him again.”

“And from whom, then?”

“You shall know that by and by.”

“Well, then—­since you have a Gabriel of your own—­there is the more reason that you should love ours.”

“Yours! but who is yours?  I am on thorns till you tell me.”

“You know, Dagobert,” resumed Rose, “that Blanche and I are accustomed to fall asleep, holding each other by the hand.”

“Yes, yes, I have often seen you in your cradle.  I was never tired of looking at you; it was so pretty.”

“Well, then—­two nights ago, we had just fallen asleep, when we beheld—­”

“Oh, it was in a dream!” cried Dagobert.  “Since you were asleep, it was in a dream!”

“Certainly, in a dream—­how else would you have it?”

“Pray let my sister go on with her tale!”

“All, well and good!” said the soldier with a sigh of satisfaction; “well and good!  To be sure, I was tranquil enough in any case—­because—­but still—­I like it better to be a dream.  Continue, my little Rose.”

“Once asleep, we both dreamt the same thing.”

“What! both the same?”

“Yes, Dagobert; for the next morning when we awoke we related our two dreams to each other.”

Follow Us on Facebook