“That would be difficult, for I cannot explain it to myself. These little ladies,” he added, pointing with a smile to Rose and Blanche, “pretended to know more about it than I did, and were continually repeating: ‘It was the angel that came to our assistance, Dagobert—the good angel we told thee of—though you said you would rather have Spoil sport to defend us—‘”
“Gabriel, I am waiting for you,” said a stern voice, which made the missionary start. They all turned round instantly, whilst the dog uttered a deep growl.
It was Rodin. He stood in the doorway leading to the corridor. His features were calm and impassive, but he darted a rapid, piercing glance at the soldier and sisters.
“Who is that man?” said Dagobert, very little prepossessed in favor of Rodin, whose countenance he found singularly repulsive. “What the mischief does he want?”
“I must go with him,” answered Gabriel, in a tone of sorrowful constraint. Then, turning to Rodin, he added: “A thousand pardons! I shall be ready in a moment.”
“What!” cried Dagobert, stupefied with amazement, “going the very instant we have just met? No, by my faith! you shall not go. I have too much to tell you, and to ask in return. We will make the journey together. It will be a real treat for me.”
“It is impossible. He is my superior, and I must obey him.”
“Your superior?—why, he’s in citizen’s dress.”
“He is not obliged to wear the ecclesiastical garb.”
“Rubbish! since he is not in uniform, and there is no provost-marshal in your troop, send him to the—”