It is Gabriel." "Is it not a pretty name, Dagobert?
Oh, you will see and love, as we do, our beautiful Gabriel!" "I'll love your beautiful Gabriel, will I ?" said the veteran, shaking his head--"Love your beautiful Gabriel ?--that's as it may be.

I must first know--" Then, interrupting himself, he added: "It is queer.

That reminds me of something." "Of what, Dagobert ?" "Fifteen years ago, in the last letter that your father, on his return from France, brought me from my wife: she told me that, poor as she was, and with our little growing Agricola on her hands, she had taken in a poor deserted child, with the face of a cherub, and the name of Gabriel--and only a short time since I heard of him again." "And from whom, then ?" "You shall know that by and by." "Well, then--since you have a Gabriel of your own--there is the more reason that you should love ours." "Yours! but who is yours?
I am on thorns till you tell me." "You know, Dagobert," resumed Rose, "that Blanche and I are accustomed to fall asleep, holding each other by the hand." "Yes, yes, I have often seen you in your cradle.

I was never tired of looking at you; it was so pretty." "Well, then--two nights ago, we had just fallen asleep, when we beheld--" "Oh, it was in a dream!" cried Dagobert.

"Since you were asleep, it was in a dream!" "Certainly, in a dream--how else would you have it ?" "Pray let my sister go on with her tale!" "All, well and good!" said the soldier with a sigh of satisfaction; "well and good! To be sure, I was tranquil enough in any case--because--but still--I like it better to be a dream.