“I believe not, father.”

“It was their mother who entrusted them to your husband, to bring them to France?”

“Yes, father; he was obliged to set out yesterday for Chartres, on some very pressing business, as he told me.”

It will be remembered that Dagobert had not thought fit to inform his wife of the hopes which the daughters of Marshall Simon founded on the possession of the medal, and that he had particularly charged them not to mention these hopes, even to Frances.

“So,” resumed the voice, after a pause of some moments’ duration, “your husband is not in Paris.”

“No, father; but he will doubtless return this evening or to-morrow morning.”

“Listen to me,” said the voice, after another pause.  “Every minute lost for those two young girls is a new step on the road to perdition.  At any moment the hand of God may smite them, for He alone knows the hour of our death; and were they to die in the state in which they now are, they would most probably be lost to all eternity.  This very day, therefore, you must open their eyes to the divine light, and place them in a religious house.  It is your duty—­it should be your desire!”

“Oh, yes, father; but, unfortunately, I am too poor, as I have already told you.”

“I know it—­you do not want for zeal or faith—­but even were you capable of directing these young girls, the impious examples of your husband and son would daily destroy your work.  Others must do for these orphans, in the name of Christian charity, that which you cannot do, though you are answerable for them before heaven.”

“Oh, father! if, thanks to you, this good work could be accomplished, how grateful I should be!”

“It is not impossible.  I know the superior of a convent, where these young girls would be instructed as they ought.  The charge for their board would be diminished in consideration of their poverty; but, however small, it must be paid and there would be also an outfit to furnish.  All that would be too dear for you.”

“Alas! yes, father.”

“But, by taking a little from my poor-box, and by applying to one or two generous persons, I think I shall be able to complete the necessary sum, and so get the young girls received at the convent.”

“Ah, father! you are my deliverer, and these children’s.”

“I wish to be so—­but, in the interest of their salvation, and to make these measures really efficacious, I must attach some conditions to the support I offer you.”

“Name them, father; they are accepted beforehand.  Your commands shall be obeyed in everything.”

“First of all, the children must be taken this very morning to the convent, by my housekeeper, to whom you must bring them almost immediately.”

“Nay, father; that is impossible!” cried Frances.

“Impossible? why?”

“In the absence of my husband—­”

“Well?”