He ran to a chair, and took from it the portmanteau of the orphans; it contained a little linen, two black dresses, and a small box of white wood, in which were a silk handkerchief that had belonged to their mother, two locks of her hair, and a black ribbon she had worn round her neck.

The little she possessed had been seized by the Russian government, in pursuance of the confiscation.

Dagobert searched and researched every article--peeped into all the corners of the portmanteau--still nothing! This time, completely worn out, leaning against the table, the strong, energetic man felt himself giving way.

His face was burning, yet bathed in a cold sweat; his knees trembled under him.

It is a common saying, that drowning men will catch at straws; and so it is with the despair that still clings to some shred of hope.