“Sister, I understand,” said Rose, after a moment’s silence. “Well, we must not be at the charge of any one. We are young, and have courage. Till our fate is decided, let us fancy ourselves daughters of workmen. After all, is not our grandfather a workman? Let us find some employment, and earn our own living. It must be so proud and happy to earn one’s living!”
“Good little sister,” said Blanche, kissing Rose. “What happiness! You have forestalled my thought; kiss me!”
“How so?”
“Your project is mine exactly. Yesterday, when I heard Dagobert’s wife complain so sadly that she had lost her sight. I looked into your large eyes, which reminded me of my own, and said to myself: ‘Well! this poor old woman may have lost her sight, but Rose and Blanche Simon can see pretty clearly’—which is a compensation,” added Blanche, with a smile.
“And, after all,” resumed Rose, smiling in her turn, “the young ladies in question are not so very awkward, as not to be able to sew up great sacks of coarse cloth—though it may chafe their fingers a little.”
“So we had both the same thought, as usual; only I wished to surprise you, and waited till we were alone, to tell you my plan.”
“Yes, but there is something teases me.”
“What is that?”
“First of all, Dagobert and his wife will be sure to say to us: ‘Young ladies, you are not fitted for such work. What, daughters of a Marshal of France sewing up great ugly bags!’ And then, if we insist upon it, they will add: ‘Well, we have no work to give you. If you want any, you must hunt for it.’ What would Misses Simon do then?”
“The fact is, that when Dagobert has made up his mind to anything—”