“Even in Paris?  Yes, my children; therefore, I come back to the point, the cannon is better.  With it, one has the chance of becoming, like your father, duke and marshal:  when I say duke and marshal, I am partly right and partly wrong, for the title and the rank were not recognized in the end; because, after Montmirail, came a day of gloom, a day of great mourning, when, as the general has told me, old soldiers like myself wept—­yes, wept!—­on the evening of a battle.  That day, my children, was Waterloo!”

There was in these simple words of Dagobert an expression of such deep sorrow, that it thrilled the hearts of the orphans.

“Alas!” resumed the soldier, with a sigh, “there are days which seem to have a curse on them.  That same day, at Waterloo, the general fell, covered with wounds, at the head of a division of the Guards.  When he was nearly cured, which was not for a long time, he solicited permission to go to St. Helena—­another island at the far end of the world, to which the English had carried the Emperor, to torture him at their leisure; for if he was very fortunate in the first instance, he had to go through a deal of hard rubs at last, my poor children.”

“If you talk in that way, you will make us cry, Dagobert.”

“There is cause enough for it—­the Emperor suffered so much!  He bled cruelly at the heart believe me.  Unfortunately, the general was not with him at St. Helena; he would have been one more to console him; but they would not allow him to go.  Then, exasperated, like so many others, against the Bourbons, the general engaged in a conspiracy to recall the son of the Emperor.  He relied especially on one regiment, nearly all composed of his old soldiers, and he went down to a place in Picardy, where they were then in garrison; but the conspiracy had already been divulged.  Arrested the moment of his arrival, the general was taken before the colonel of the regiment.  And this colonel,” said the soldier, after a brief pause, “who do you think it was again?  Bah! it would be too long to tell you all, and would only make you more sad; but it was a man whom your father had many reasons to hate.  When he found himself face to face with him, he said:  ’if you are not a coward, you will give me one hour’s liberty, and we will fight to the death; I hate you for this, I despise you for that’—­and so on.  The colonel accepted the challenge, and gave your father his liberty till the morrow.  The duel was a desperate one; the colonel was left for dead on the spot.”

“Merciful heaven!”

“The general was yet wiping his sword, when a faithful friend came to him, and told him he had only just time to save himself.  In fact, he happily succeeded in leaving France—­yes, happily—­for a fortnight after, he was condemned to death as a conspirator.”

“What misfortunes, good heaven!”

“There was some luck, however, in the midst of his troubles.  Your mother had kept her promise bravely, and was still waiting for him.  She had written to him:  ‘The Emperor first, and me next!’ both unable to do anything more for the Emperor, nor even for his son, the general, banished from France, set out for Warsaw.  Your mother had lost her parents, and was now free; they were married—­and I am one of the witnesses to the marriage.”