“Yes; and sooner, perhaps, than you think for.”
“Madame,” said Dagobert, abruptly, “he deceives you. You are the dupe of that old rascal.”
“No,” said Adrienne, shaking her head, with a smile. “I have proofs of his good faith. First of all, it is he who delivers me from this house.”
“Is it true?” said Dagobert, quite confounded.
“Very true; and here is, perhaps, something that will reconcile you to him,” said Adrienne, as she delivered the small parcel which Rodin had given her as he went out. “Not wishing to exasperate you by his presence, he said to me: ‘Give this to that brave soldier; it is my revenge.’”
Dagobert looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with surprise, as he mechanically opened the little parcel. When he had unfolded it, and discovered his own silver cross, black with age, and the old red, faded ribbon, treasures taken from him at the White Falcon Inn, at the same time as his papers, he exclaimed in a broken voice: “My cross! my cross! It is my cross!” In the excitement of his joy, he pressed the silver star to his gray moustache.
Adrienne and the other were deeply affected by the emotion of the old soldier, who continued, as he ran towards the door by which Rodin had gone out: “Next to a service rendered to Marshal Simon, my wife, or son, nothing could be more precious to me. And you answer for this worthy man, madame, and I have ill used him in your presence! Oh! he is entitled to reparation, and he shall have it.”
So saying, Dagobert left the room precipitately, hastened through two other apartments, gained the staircase, and descending it rapidly, overtook Rodin on the lowest step.
“Sir,” said the soldier to him, in an agitated voice, as he seized him by the arm, “you must come upstairs directly.”
“You should make up your mind to one thing or the other, my dear sir,” said Rodin, stopping good-naturedly; “one moment you tell me to begone, and the next to return. How are we to decide?”