“Oh, father! you love us then as much as we love you?” cried Rose, with enchanting simplicity.

“And we may often, very often, perhaps every day, throw ourselves on your neck, embrace you, and prove how glad we are to be with you?”

“Show you, dear father, all the store of love we were heaping up in our hearts—­so sad, alas! that we could not spend it upon you?”

“Tell you aloud all that we think in secret?”

“Yes—­you may do so—­you may do so,” said Marshal Simon, faltering with joy; “what prevented you, my children?  But no; do not answer; enough of the past!—­I know all, I understand all.  You misinterpreted my gloom, and it made you sad; I, in my turn, misinterpreted your sadness.  But never mind; I scarcely know what I am saying to you.  I only think of looking at you—­and it dazzles me—­it confuses me—­it is the dizziness of joy!”

“Oh, look at us, father! look into our eyes, into our hearts,” cried Rose, with rapture.

“And you will read there, happiness for us, and love for you, sir!” added Blanche.

“Sir, sir!” said the marshal, in a tone of affectionate reproach; “what does that mean?  Will you call me father, if you please?”

“Dear father, your hand!” said Blanche, as she took it, and placed it on her heart.

“Dear father, your hand!” said Rose, as she took the other hand of the marshal.  “Do you believe now in our love and happiness?” she continued.

It is impossible to describe the charming expression of filial pride in the divine faces of the girls, as their father, slightly pressing their virgin bosoms, seemed to count with delight the joyous pulsations of their hearts.

“Oh, yes! happiness and affection can alone make the heart beat thus!” cried the marshal.

A hoarse sob, heard in the direction of the open door, made the three turn round, and there they saw the tall figure of Dagobert, with the black nose of Spoil-sport reaching to his master’s knee.  The soldier, drying his eyes and moustache with his little blue cotton handkerchief, remained motionless as the god Terminus.  When he could speak, he addressed himself to the marshal, and, shaking his head, muttered, in a hoarse voice, for the good man was swallowing his tears:  “Did I not tell you so?”

“Silence!” said the marshal, with a sign of intelligence.  “You were a better father than myself, my old friend.  Come and kiss them!  I shall not be jealous.”

The marshal stretched out his hand to the soldier, who pressed it cordially, whilst the two sisters threw themselves on his neck, and Spoil-sport, according to custom wishing to have his share in the general joy, raised himself on his hind legs, and rested his fore-paws against his master’s back.  There was a moment of profound silence.  The celestial felicity enjoyed during that moment, by the marshal, his daughters, and the soldier, was interrupted by the barking of Spoil-sort, who suddenly quitted the attitude of a biped.  The happy group separated, looked round, and saw Loony’s stupid face.  He looked even duller than usual, as he stood quite still in the doorway, staring with wide stretched eyes, and holding a feather-broom under his arm, and in his hand the ever-present basket of wood.