“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 been wanting in respect to you—forgive me—but—”
“I forgive you—only leave me!” said the marshal, hardly restraining himself.
“One word, general—”
“I entreat you to leave me—I ask it as a service—is that enough?” said the marshal, with renewed efforts to control the violence of his emotions.