He advanced a step or so to encounter Dagobert, placed himself before him, as if to intercept his passage, and, folding his arms, and scanning him from head to foot with bitter insolence, said to him: "So! an old soldier of that arch-robber, Napoleon, is only fit for a washerwoman, and refuses to fight!" "Yes, he refuses to fight," answered Dagobert, in a firm voice, but becoming fearfully pale.

Never, perhaps, had the soldier given to his orphan charge such a proof of tenderness and devotion.

For a man of his character to let himself be insulted with impunity, and refuse to fight--the sacrifice was immense.
"So you are a coward--you are afraid of me--and you confess it ?" At these words Dagobert made, as it were, a pull upon himself--as if a sudden thought had restrained him the moment he was about to rush on the Prophet.

Indeed, he had remembered the two maidens, and the fatal hindrance which a duel, whatever might be the result, would occasion to their journey.

But the impulse of anger, though rapid, had been so significant--the expression of the stern, pale face, bathed in sweat, was so daunting, that the Prophet and the spectators drew back a step.
Profound silence reigned for some seconds, and then, by a sudden reaction, Dagobert seemed to have gained the general interest.