“It was, sir,” answered Gabriel, astonished in his turn. “But how do you know this?”
“The wife of a soldier, eh?” continued Dagobert.
“Yes, of a brave soldier—who, from the most admirable devotion, is even now passing his life in exile—far from his wife—far from his son, my dear brother—for I am proud to call him by that name—”
“My Agricola!—my wife!—when did you leave them?”
“What! is it possible! You the father of Agricola?—Oh! I knew not, until now,” cried Gabriel, clasping his hands together, “I knew not all the gratitude that I owed to heaven!”
“And my wife! my child!” resumed Dagobert, in a trembling voice; “how are they? have you news of them?”
“The accounts I received, three months ago, were excellent.”
“No; it is too much,” cried Dagobert; “it is too much!” The veteran was unable to proceed; his feelings stifled his words, and fell back exhausted in a chair.
And now Rose and Blanche recalled to mind that portion of their father’s letter which related to the child named Gabriel, whom the wife of Dagobert had adopted; then they also yielded to transports of innocent joy.
“Our Gabriel is the same as yours—what happiness!” cried Rose.