Almost as ignorant as Dagobert, with regard to devotional exercises, for in the desert where they had lived there was neither church nor priest, their faith, as was already said, consisted in this—­that God, just and good, had so much pity for the poor mothers whose children were left on earth, that he allowed them to look down upon them from highest heaven—­to see them always, to hear them always, and sometimes to send fair guardian angels to protect therein.  Thanks to this guileless illusion, the orphans, persuaded that their mother incessantly watched over them, felt, that to do wrong would be to afflict her, and to forfeit the protection of the good angels.—­This was the entire theology of Rose and Blanche—­a creed sufficient for such pure and loving souls.

Now, on the evening in question, the two sisters chatted together whilst waiting for Dagobert.  Their theme interested them much, for, since some days, they had a secret, a great secret, which often quickened the beatings of their innocent hearts, often agitated their budding bosoms, changed to bright scarlet the roses on their cheeks, and infused a restless and dreamy langour into the soft blue of their large eyes.

Rose, this evening, occupied the edge of the couch, with her rounded arms crossed behind her head, which was half turned towards her sister; Blanche, with her elbow resting on the bolster, looked at her smilingly, and said:  “Do you think he will come again to-night?”

“Oh, yes! certainly.  He promised us yesterday.”

“He is so good, he would not break his promise.”

“And so handsome, with his long fair curls.”

“And his name—­what a charming name!—­How well it suits his face.”

“And what a sweet smile and soft voice, when he says to us, taking us by the hand:  ’My children, bless God that he has given you one soul.  What others seek elsewhere, you will find in yourselves.’”

“‘Since your two hearts,’ he added, ‘only make one.’”

“What pleasure to remember his words, sister!”

“We are so attentive!  When I see you listening to him, it is as if I saw myself, my dear little mirror!” said Rose, laughing, and kissing her sister’s forehead.  “Well—­when he speaks, your—­or rather our eyes—­are wide, wide open, our lips moving as if we repeated every word after him.  It is no wonder we forget nothing that he says.”

“And what he says is so grand, so noble, and generous.”

“Then, my sister, as he goes on talking, what good thoughts rise within us!  If we could but always keep them in mind.”

“Do not be afraid! they will remain in our hearts, like little birds in their mother’s nests.”

“And how lucky it is, Rose, that he loves us both at the same time!”

“He could not do otherwise, since we have but one heart between us.”

“How could he love Rose, without loving Blanche?”

“What would have become of the poor, neglected one?”