"Well, he has grown a man, and has come home."
"Then," said Jodoque, "I suppose I may go home."
"Come home?—where is he?—Still, my sailor friend, I can't tell why you should tremble."
"Yes, he has come home; and if he will have me, I will marry him."
"And he'll have a good wife, Bertha," said the sailor, and he made a movement as though about to run to the girl; but little Doome, too impulsive to think about the Fräulein Grundei, enthusiastically clasped the arms of her friend's eulogizer.
"Yes,—marry him!—and at this moment he is in that room! And now any one of you may open the door."
"Open the door?—I'll smash the door!" said the sailor, roughly pushing the girl away from him. "So, Daniel is there, is he? Well, let him come!"
He ran up to the door, threw it open, and there, standing just within, was the young French prisoner of war.
"Good morning, all!" he said.
"You are Daniel, are you?" said the sailor, drawing the other forward to the light. "You are Daniel, are you?"