“But here, at least, he is visible.”

“Not as it was in the prison at Leipsic, during that dark night.”

“And so—­he has again rescued us.”

“Without him, we should have perished this morning.”

“And yet, sister, it seems to me, that in our dreams his countenance shone with light.”

“Yes, you know it dazzled us to look at him.”

“And then he had not so sad a mien.”

“That was because he came then from heaven; now he is upon earth.”

“But, sister, had he then that bright red scar round his forehead?”

“Oh, no! we should have certainly perceived it.”

“And these other marks on his hands?”

“If he has been wounded, how can he be an archangel?”

“Why not, sister?  If he received those wounds in preventing evil, or in helping the unfortunate, who, like us, were about to perish?”

“You are right.  If he did not run any danger for those he protects, it would be less noble.”

“What a pity that he does not open his eye!”

“Their expression is so good, so tender!”

“Why did he not speak of our mother, by the way?”

“We were not alone with him; he did not like to do so.”

“But now we are alone.”

“If we were to pray to him to speak to us?”

The orphans looked doubtingly at each other, with charming simplicity; a bright glow suffused their cheeks, and their young bosoms heaved gently beneath their black dresses.

“You are right.  Let us kneel down to him.”

“Oh, sister! our hearts beat so!” said Blanche, believing rightly, that Rose felt exactly as she did.  “And yet it seems to do us good.  It is as if some happiness were going to befall us.”

The sisters, having approached the arm-chair on tip-toe, knelt down with clasped hands, one to the right the other to the left of the young priest.  It was a charming picture.  Turning their lovely faces towards him, they said in a low whisper, with a soft, sweet voice, well suited to their youthful appearance:  “Gabriel! speak to us of our mother!”

On this appeal, the missionary gave a slight start, half-opened his eyes, and, still in a state of semi-consciousness, between sleep and waking, beheld those two beauteous faces turned towards him, and heard two gentle voices repeat his name.

“Who calls me?” said he, rousing himself, and raising his head.

“It is Blanche and Rose.”

It was now Gabriel’s turn to blush, for he recognized the young girls he had saved.  “Rise, my sisters!” said he to them; “you should kneel only unto God.”

The orphans obeyed, and were soon beside him, holding each other by the hand.  “You know my name, it seems,” said the missionary with a smile.

“Oh, we have not forgotten it!”

“Who told it you?”

“Yourself.” 
“I?”

“Yes—­when you came from our mother.”