The marshal seated himself at the desk, and made a sign to Dagobert to draw near.
While he wrote rapidly a few words in a firm hand, he said to the soldier with a smile, in so low a tone that it was impossible for his daughters to hear: “Do you know what I had almost resolved upon, before entering this room?”
“What, general?”
“To blow my brains out. It is to my children that I owe my life.” And the marshal continued writing.
Dagobert started at this communication, and then replied, also in a whisper: “It would not have been with your pistols. I took off the caps.”
The marshal turned round hastily, and looked at him with an air of surprise. But the soldier only nodded his head affirmatively, and added: “Thank heaven, we have now done with all those ideas!”
The marshal’s only answer was to glance at his children, his eyes swimming with tenderness, and sparkling with delight; then, sealing the note he had written, he gave it to the soldier, and said to him, “Give that to M. Robert. I will see him to-morrow.”
Dagobert took the letter, and went out. Returning towards his daughters, the marshal joyfully extended his arms to them, and said, “Now, young ladies, two nice kisses for having sacrificed M. Robert to you. Have I not earned them?” And Rose and Blanche threw themselves on their father’s neck.
About the time that these events were taking place at Paris, two travellers, wide apart from each other, exchanged mysterious thoughts through the breadth of space.
