“Yes,” replied Dagobert, making a sign of intelligence to the orphans, “we have lots to tell you for a fortnight to come; and among other things, how we chanced to meet with Gabriel.  All I can now say is that, in his way, he is quite as good as my boy (I shall never be tired of saying ’my boy’); and they ought to love each other like brothers.  Oh, my brave, brave wife!” said Dagobert, with emotion, “you did a good thing, poor as you were, taking the unfortunate child—­and bringing him up with your own.”

“Don’t talk so much about it, my dear; it was such a simple thing.”

“You are right; but I’ll make you amends for it by and by.  ’Tis down to your account; in the mean time, you will be sure to see him to-morrow morning.”

“My dear brother arrived too!” cried the blacksmith; “who’ll say, after this, that there are not days set apart for happiness?  How came you to meet him, father?”

“I’ll tell you all, by and by, about when and how we met Gabriel; for if you expect to sleep, you are mistaken.  You’ll give me half your room, and a fine chat we’ll have.  Spoil-sport will stay outside of this door; he is accustomed to sleep at the children’s door.”

“Dear me, love, I think of nothing.  But, at such a moment, if you and the young ladies wish to sup, Agricola will fetch something from the cook-shop.”

“What do you say, children?”

“No, thank you, Dagobert, we are not hungry; we are too happy.”

“You will take a little wine and water, sweetened, nice and hot, to warm you a little, my dear young ladies,” said Frances; “unfortunately, I have nothing else to offer you.”

“You are right, Frances; the dear children are tired, and want to go to bed; while they do so, I’ll go to my boy’s room, and, before Rose and Blanche are awake, I will come down and converse with you, just to give Agricola a respite.”

A knock was now heard at the door.

“It is good Mother Bunch come to see if we want her,” said Agricola.

“But I think she was here when my husband came in,” added Frances.

“Right, mother; and the good girl left lest she should be an intruder:  she is so thoughtful.  But no—­no—­it is not she who knocks so loud.”

“Go and see who it is, then, Agricola.”

Before the blacksmith could reach the door, a man decently dressed, with a respectable air, entered the room, and glanced rapidly round, looking for a moment at Rose and Blanche.

“Allow me to observe, sir,” said Agricola, “that after knocking, you might have waited till the door was opened, before you entered.  Pray, what is your business?”

“Pray excuse me, sir,” said the man, very politely, and speaking slowly, perhaps to prolong his stay in the room:  “I beg a thousand pardons—­I regret my intrusion—­I am ashamed—­”

“Well, you ought to be, sir,” said Agricola, with impatience, “what do you want?”