From time to time he stopped abruptly, and seemed to make reply to his own thoughts, or uttered an exclamation of doubt and uneasiness; then, turning towards the trophy of arms, he shook his head mournfully, and murmured, “No matter—this fear may be idle; but he has acted so extraordinarily these two days, that it is at all events more prudent—”
He continued his walk, and said, after a new and prolonged silence: “Yes he must tell me. It makes me too uneasy. And then the poor children—it is enough to break one’s heart.”
And Dagobert hastily drew his moustache between his thumb and forefinger, a nervous movement, which with him was an evident symptom of extreme agitation. Some minutes after, the soldier resumed, still answering his inward thoughts: “What can it be? It is hardly possible to be the letters, they are too infamous; he despises them. And yet But no, no—he is above that!”
And Dagobert again began to walk with hasty steps. Suddenly, Spoil-sport pricked up his ears, turned his head in the direction of the staircase door, and growled hoarsely. A few seconds after, some one knocked at the door.
“Who is there?” said Dagobert. There was no answer, but the person knocked again. Losing patience, the soldier went hastily to open it, and saw the servant’s stupid face.
“Why don’t you answer, when I ask who knocks!” said the soldier, angrily.
“M. Dagobert, you sent me away just now, and I was afraid of making you cross, if I said I had come again.”
“What do you want? Speak then—come in, stupid!” cried the exasperated. Dagobert, as he pulled him into the room.
“M. Dagobert, don’t be angry—I’ll tell you all about it—it is a young man.”
“Well?”