"It is natural that you should be sorry for your horse," said he, in a less impatient tone; "but what is to be done ?--It is a misfortune." "A misfortune ?--Yes, Mr.Burgomaster, a very great misfortune.

The girls, who accompany me, were too weak to undertake a long journey on foot, too poor to travel in a carriage--and yet we have to arrive in Paris before the month of February.

When their mother died, I promised her to take them to France, for these children have only me to take care of them." "You are then their--" "I am their faithful servant, Mr.Burgomaster; and now that my horse has been killed, what can I do for them?
Come, you are good, you have perhaps children of your own; if, one day, they should find themselves in the position of my two little orphans--with no wealth, no resources in the world, but an old soldier who loves them, and an old horse to carry them along--if, after being very unfortunate from their birth--yes, very unfortunate, for my orphans are the daughters of exiles--they should see happiness before them at the end of a journey, and then, by the death of their horse, that journey become impossible--tell me, Mr.Burgomaster, if this would not touch your heart?
Would you not find, as I do, that the loss of my horse is irreparable ?" "Certainly," answered the burgomaster, who was not ill natured at bottom, and who could not help taking part in Dagobert's emotion; "I now understand the importance of the loss you have suffered.

And then your orphans interest me: how old are they ?" "Fifteen years and two months.

They are twins." "Fifteen years and two months--that is about the age of my Frederica." "You have a young lady of that age ?" cried Dagobert, once more awaking to hope; "ah, Mr.Burgomaster! I am really no longer uneasy about my poor children.