“Oh, Dagobert! do not make a jest of it!  They are only dreams, but we think our mother sends them to us.  Did she not tell us that orphan children were watched over by guardian angels?  Well, Gabriel is our guardian angel; he will protect us, and he will protect you also.”

“Very kind of him to think of me; but you see, my dear children, for the matter of defence, I prefer the dog; he is less fair than your angel, but he has better teeth, and that is more to be depended on.”

“How provoking you are, Dagobert—­always jesting!”

“It is true; you can laugh at everything.”

“Yes, I am astonishingly gay; I laugh with my teeth shut, in the style of old Jovial.  Come, children, don’t scold me:  I know I am wrong.  The remembrance of your dear mother is mixed with this dream, and you do well to speak of it seriously.  Besides,” added he, with a grave air, “dreams will sometimes come true.  In Spain, two of the Empress’s dragoons, comrades of mine, dreamt, the night before their death, that they would be poisoned by the monks—­and so it happened.  If you continue to dream of this fair angel Gabriel, it is—­it is—­why, it is, because you are amused by it; and, as you have none too many pleasures in the daytime, you may as well get an agreeable sleep at night.  But, now, my children, I have also much to tell you; it will concern your mother; promise me not to be sad.”

“Be satisfied! when we think of her we are not sad, though serious.”

“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!”