“Have these girls no relation here?” asked the voice.
“I believe not, father.”
“It was their mother who entrusted them to your husband, to bring them to France?”
“Yes, father; he was obliged to set out yesterday for Chartres, on some very pressing business, as he told me.”
It will be remembered that Dagobert had not thought fit to inform his wife of the hopes which the daughters of Marshall Simon founded on the possession of the medal, and that he had particularly charged them not to mention these hopes, even to Frances.
“So,” resumed the voice, after a pause of some moments’ duration, “your husband is not in Paris.”
“No, father; but he will doubtless return this evening or to-morrow morning.”
“Listen to me,” said the voice, after another pause. “Every minute lost for those two young girls is a new step on the road to perdition. At any moment the hand of God may smite them, for He alone knows the hour of our death; and were they to die in the state in which they now are, they would most probably be lost to all eternity. This very day, therefore, you must open their eyes to the divine light, and place them in a religious house. It is your duty—it should be your desire!”
“Oh, yes, father; but, unfortunately, I am too poor, as I have already told you.”
“I know it—you do not want for zeal or faith—but even were you capable of directing these young girls, the impious examples of your husband and son would daily destroy your work. Others must do for these orphans, in the name of Christian charity, that which you cannot do, though you are answerable for them before heaven.”