resting-place. As if it were not for us to--"

"You!" said the soldier, interrupting Blanche, "I, allow you to chap your
pretty little hands in soap-suds! Pooh! don't a soldier on a campaign
always wash his own linen? Clumsy as you see me, I was the best
washerwoman in my squadron--and what a hand at ironing! Not to make a
brag of it."

"Yes, yes--you can iron well--very well."

"Only sometimes, there will be a little singe," said Rose, smiling.

"Hah! when the iron is too hot. Zounds! I may bring it as near my cheek
as I please; my skin is so tough that I don't feel the heat," said
Dagobert, with imperturbable gravity.

"We are only jesting, good Dagobert!"

"Then, children, if you think that I know my trade as a washerwoman, let
me continue to have your custom: it is cheaper; and, on a journey, poor
people like us should save where we can, for we must, at all events, keep
enough to reach Paris. Once there, our papers and the medal you wear will
do the rest--I hope so, at least."

"This medal is sacred to us; mother gave it to us on her death-bed."

"Therefore, take great care that you do not lose it: see, from time to
time, that you have it safe."

"Here it is," said Blanche, as she drew from her bosom a small bronze