"It is of no use crying alas!" said the soldier wiping his forehead, on which the veins were swollen as if they would burst; "what am I to answer to the marshal?"
"Accuse me to him—I will bear it all—I will say—"
"What will you say?"
"That, on going out, you entrusted the two girls to me, and that not finding them on return you asked be about them—and that my answer was, that I could not tell you what had become of them."
"And you think the marshal will be satisfied with such reasons?" cried
Dagobert, clinching his fists convulsively upon his knees.
"Unfortunately, I can give no other—either to him or you—no—not if I were to die for it."
Dagobert bounded from his chair at this answer, which was given with hopeless resignation. His patience was exhausted; but determined not to yield to new bursts of anger, or to spend his breath in useless menaces, he abruptly opened one of the windows, and exposed his burning forehead to the cool air. A little calmer, he walked up and down for a few moments, and then returned to seat himself beside his wife. She, with her eyes bathed in tears, fixed her gaze upon the crucifix, thinking that she also had to bear a heavy cross.
Dagobert resumed: "By the manner in which you speak, I see that no accident has happened, which might endanger the health of the children."
"No, oh no! thank God, they are quite well—that is all I can say to you."
"Did they go out alone?"