CHAPTER V. ROSE AND BLANCHE.

The orphans occupied a dilapidated chamber in one of the most remote
wings of the inn, with a single window opening upon the country. A bed
without curtains, a table, and two chairs, composed the more than modest
furniture of this retreat, which was now lighted by a lamp. On the table,
which stood near the window, was deposited the knapsack of the soldier.
The great Siberian dog, who was lying close to the door, had already
twice uttered a deep growl, and turned his head towards the window--but
without giving any further affect to this hostile manifestation.
The two sisters, half recumbent in their bed, were clad in long white
wrappers, buttoned at the neck and wrists. They wore no caps, but their
beautiful chestnut hair was confined at the temples by a broad piece of
tape, so that it might not get tangled during the night. These white
garments, and the white fillet that like a halo encircled their brows,
gave to their fresh and blooming faces a still more candid expression.
The orphans laughed and chatted, for, in spite of some early sorrows,
they still retained the ingenuous gayety of their age. The remembrance of
their mother would sometimes make them sad, but this sorrow had in it
nothing bitter; it was rather a sweet melancholy, to be sought instead of
shunned. For them, this adored mother was not dead--she was only absent.
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?"
"And then again he would have found it so difficult to choose."
"We are so much like one another."
"So, to save himself that trouble," said Rose, laughing, "he has chosen us both."
"And is it not the best way? He is alone to love us; we are two together to think of him."
"Only he must not leave us till we reach Paris."
"And in Paris, too--we must see him there also."
"Oh, above all at Paris; it will be good to have him with us--and
Dagobert, too--in that great city. Only think, Blanche, how beautiful it must be."
"Paris!--it must be like a city all of gold."
"A city, where every one must be happy, since it is so beautiful."
"But ought we, poor orphans, dare so much as to enter it? How people will look at us!"
"Yes--but every one there is happy, every one must be good also." "They will love us."
"And, besides, we shall be with our friend with the fair hair and blue eyes."
"He has yet told us nothing of Paris."
"He has not thought of it; we must speak to him about it this very night."
"If he is in the mood for talking. Often you know, he likes best to gaze
on us in silence--his eyes on our eyes."
"Yes. In those moments, his look recalls to me the gaze of our dear mother."
"And, as she sees it all, how pleased she must be at what has happened to us!"
"Because, when we are so much beloved, we must, I hope, deserve it."
"See what a vain thing it is!" said Blanche, smoothing with her slender
fingers the parting of the hair on her sister's forehead.
After a moment's reflection, Rose said to her: "Don't you think we should relate all this to Dagobert?" "If you think so, let us do it."
"We tell him everything, as we told everything to mother. Why should we conceal this from him?"
"Especially as it is something which gives us so much pleasure."
"Do you not find that, since we have known our friend, our hearts beat quicker and stronger?" "Yes, they seem to be more full."
"The reason why is plain enough; our friend fills up a good space in them."
"Well, we will do best to tell Dagobert what a lucky star ours is."
"You are right--" At this moment the dog gave another deep growl.
"Sister," said Rose, as she pressed closer to Blanche, "there is the dog
growling again. What can be the matter with him?"
"Spoil-sport, do not growl! Come hither," said Blanche, striking with her
little hand on the side of the bed.
The dog rose, again growled deeply, and came to lay his great,
intelligent looking head on the counterpane, still obstinately casting a
sidelong glance at the window; the sisters bent over him to pat his broad
forehead, in the centre of which was a remarkable bump, the certain sign
of extreme purity of race.
"What makes you growl so, Spoil-sport?" said Blanche, pulling him gently
by the ears--"eh, my good dog?"
"Poor beast! he is always so uneasy when Dagobert is away."
"It is true; one would think he knows that he then has a double charge over us."
"Sister, it seems to me, Dagobert is late in coming to say good-night."
"No doubt he is attending to Jovial."
"That makes me think that we did not bid good-night to dear old Jovial. "I am sorry for it."
"Poor beast! he seems so glad when he licks our hands. One would think
that he thanked us for our visit."
"Luckily, Dagobert will have wished him good-night for us."
"Good Dagobert! he is always thinking of us. How he spoils us! We remain
idle, and he has all the trouble."
"How can we prevent it?"
"What a pity that we are not rich, to give him a little rest."
"We rich! Alas, my sister! we shall never be anything but poor orphans."
"Oh, there's the medal!"
"Doubtless, there is some hope attached to it, else we should not have
made this long journey."
"Dagobert has promised to tell us all, this evening."
She was prevented from continuing, for two of the windowpanes flew to pieces with a loud crash.
The orphans, with a cry of terror, threw themselves into each other's
arms, whilst the dog rushed towards the window, barking furiously.
Pale, trembling, motionless with affright, clasping each other in a close
embrace, the two sisters held their breath; in their extreme fear, they
durst not even cast their eyes in the direction of the window. The dog,
with his forepaws resting on the sill, continued to bark with violence.
"Alas! what can it be?" murmured the orphans. "And Dagobert not here!"
"Hark!" cried Rose, suddenly seizing Blanche by the arm; "hark!--some one
coming up the stairs!"
"Good heaven! it does not sound like the tread of Dagobert. Do you not
hear what heavy footsteps?"
"Quick! come, Spoil-sport, and defend us!" cried the two sisters at once,
in an agony of alarm.
The boards of the wooden staircase really creaked beneath the weight of
unusually heavy footsteps, and a singular kind of rustling was heard
along the thin partition that divided the chamber from the landing-place.
Then a ponderous mass, falling against the door of the room, shook it
violently; and the girls, at the very height of terror, looked at each
other without the power of speech.
The door opened. It was Dagobert.
At the sight of him Rose and Blanche joyfully exchanged a kiss, as if
they had just escaped from a great danger.
"What is the matter? why are you afraid?" asked the soldier in surprise.
"Oh, if you only knew!" said Rose, panting as she spoke, for both her own
heart and her sister's beat with violence.
"If you knew what has just happened! We did not recognize your
footsteps--they seemed so heavy--and then that noise behind the partition!"
"Little frightened doves that you are! I could not run up the stairs like
a boy of fifteen, seeing that I carried my bed upon my back--a straw
mattress that I have just flung down before your door, to sleep there as usual."
"Bless me! how foolish we must be, sister, not to have thought of that!"
said Rose, looking at Blanche. And their pretty faces, which had together
grown pale, together resumed their natural color.
During this scene the dog, still resting against the window, did not
cease barking a moment.
"What makes Spoil-sport bark in that direction, my children?" said the soldier.
"We do not know. Two of our windowpanes have just been broken. That is
what first frightened us so much."
Without answering a word Dagobert flew to the window, opened it quickly,
pushed back the shutter, and leaned out.
He saw nothing; it was a dark night. He listened; but heard only the moaning of the wind.
"Spoil-sport," said he to his dog, pointing to the open window, "leap
out, old fellow, and search!" The faithful animal took one mighty spring
and disappeared by the window, raised only about eight feet above the ground.
Dagobert, still leaning over, encouraged his dog with voice and gesture:
"Search, old fellow, search! If there is any one there, pin him--your
fangs are strong--and hold him fast till I come."
But Spoil-sport found no one. They heard him go backwards and forwards,
snuffing on every side, and now and then uttering a low cry like a hound at fault.
"There is no one, my good dog, that's clear, or you would have had him by
the throat ere this." Then, turning to the maidens, who listened to his
words and watched his movements with uneasiness: "My girls," said he,
"how were these panes broken? Did you not remark?"
"No, Dagobert; we were talking together when we heard a great crash, and
then the glass fell into the room."
"It seemed to me," added Rose, "as if a shutter had struck suddenlya gainst the window."
Dagobert examined the shutter, and observed a long movable hook, designed
to fasten it on the inside.
"It blows hard," said he; "the wind must have swung round the shutter,
and this hook broke the window. Yes, yes; that is it. What interest could
anybody have to play such a sorry trick?" Then, speaking to Spoil sport,
he asked, "Well, my good fellow, is there no one?"
The dog answered by a bark, which the soldier no doubt understood as a
negative, for he continued: "Well, then, come back! Make the round--you
will find some door open--you are never at a loss."
The animal followed this advice. After growling for a few seconds beneath
the window, he set off at a gallop to make the circuit of the buildings,
and come back by the court-yard.
"Be quite easy, my children!" said the soldier, as he again drew near the
orphans; "it was only the wind."
"We were a good deal frightened," said Rose.
"I believe you. But now I think of it, this draught is likely to give you
cold." And seeking to remedy this inconvenience, he took from a chair the
reindeer pelisse, and suspended it from the spring-catch of the
curtainless window, using the skirts to stop up as closely as possible
the two openings made by the breaking of the panes.
"Thanks, Dagobert, how good you are! We were very uneasy at not seeing you."
"Yes, you were absent longer than usual. But what is the matter with
you?" added Rose, only just then perceiving that his countenance was
disturbed and pallid, for he was still under the painful influence of the
brawl with Morok; "how pale you are!"
"Me, my pets?--Oh, nothing."
"Yes, I assure you, your countenance is quite changed. Rose is right."
"I tell you there is nothing the matter," answered the soldier, not
without some embarrassment, for he was little used to deceive; till,
finding an excellent excuse for his emotion, he added: "If I do look at
all uncomfortable, it is your fright that has made me so, for indeed it was my fault."
"Your fault!"
"Yes; for if I had not lost so much time at supper, I should have been
here when the window was broken, and have spared you the fright."
"Anyhow, you are here now, and we think no more of it."
"Why don't you sit down?"
"I will, my children, for we have to talk together," said Dagobert, as he
drew a chair close to the head of the bed.
"Now tell me, are you quite awake?" he added, trying to smile in order to
reassure them. "Are those large eyes properly open?"
"Look, Dagobert!" cried the two girls, smiling in their turn, and opening
their blue eyes to the utmost extent.
"Well, well," said the soldier, "they are yet far enough, from shutting;
besides, it is only nine o'clock."
"We also have something to tell, Dagobert," resumed Rose, after
exchanging glances with her sister.
"Indeed!"
"A secret to tell you."
"A secret?"
"Yes, to be sure."
"Ah, and a very great secret!" added Rose, quite seriously.
"A secret which concerns us both," resumed Blanche.
"Faith! I should think so. What concerns the one always concerns the
other. Are you not always, as the saying goes, 'two faces under one hood?'"
"Truly, how can it be otherwise, when you put our heads under the great
hood of your pelisse?" said Rose, laughing.
"There they are again, mocking-birds! One never has the last word with
them. Come, ladies, your secret, since a secret there is."
"Speak, sister," said Rose.
"No, miss, it is for you to speak. You are to-day on duty, as eldest, and
such an important thing as telling a secret like that you talk of belongs
of right to the elder sister. Come, I am listening to you," added the
soldier, as he forced a smile, the better to conceal from the maidens how
much he still felt the unpunished affronts of the brute tamer.
It was Rose (who, as Dagobert said, was doing duty as eldest) that spoke
for herself and for her sister.