"Wretch!" cried the soldier; wild with rage, grief, despair, he lifted up his wife as if he would have dashed her upon the floor--but he was too brave a man to commit such cowardly cruelty, and, after that first burst of involuntary fury, he let her go.
Overpowered, Frances sank upon her knees, clasped her hands, and, by the faint motion of her lips, it was clear that she was praying.Dagobert had then a moment of stunning giddiness; his thoughts wandered; what had just happened was so sudden, so incomprehensible that it required some minutes to convince himself that his wife (that angel of goodness, whose life had been one course of heroic self-devotion, and who knew what the daughters of Marshal Simon were to him) should say to him: "Do not ask me about them--I cannot answer you."
The firmest, the strongest mind would have been shaken by this inexplicable fact.But, when the soldier had a little recovered himself, he began to look coolly at the circumstances, and reasoned thus sensibly with himself: "My wife alone can explain to me this inconceivable mystery--I do not mean either to beat or kill her--let us try every possibly method, therefore, to induce her to speak, and above all, let me try to control myself."
He took a chair, handed another to his wife, who was still on her knees, and said to her: "Sit down." With an air of the utmost dejection, Frances obeyed.
"Listen to me, wife," resumed Dagobert in a broken voice, interrupted by involuntary starts, which betrayed the boiling impatience he could hardly restrain."Understand me--this cannot pass over in this manner--you know.I will never use violence towards you--just now, I gave way to a first moment of hastiness--I am sorry for it.Be sure, I shall not do so again: but, after all, I must know what has become of these children.
Their mother entrusted them to my care, and I did not bring them all the way from Siberia, for you to say to me: `Do not ask me--I cannot tell you what I have done with them.' There is no reason in that.Suppose Marshal Simon were to arrive, and say to me, `Dagobert, my children?' what answer am I to give him? See, I am calm--judge for yourself--I am calm--but just put yourself in my place, and tell me--what answer am I to give to the marshal? Well--what say you! Will you speak!"
"Alas! my dear--"
"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?"
"I cannot answer you."
"Has any one taken them away?"
"Alas, my dear! why ask me these questions? I cannot answer you."
"Will they come back here?"
"I do not know."
Dagobert started up; his patience was once more exhausted.But, after taking a few turns in the room, he again seated himself as before.
"After all," said he to his wife, "you have no interest to conceal from me what is become of the children.Why refuse to let me know?"
"I cannot do otherwise."
"I think you will change your opinion, when you know something that I am now forced to tell you.Listen to me well!" added Dagobert, in an agitated voice; "if these children are not restored to me before the 13th of February--a day close at hand--I am in the position of a man that would rob the daughters of Marshal Simon--rob them, d'ye understand?"
