young girls
are confined. Do you go home, and wait for us, my good girl. We will
meet at our own house!"

Dagobert had remained plunged in thought; suddenly, he said to Agricola:
"Be it so. I will follow your counsel. But suppose the commissary says
to you: 'We cannot act before to-morrow'--suppose the Count de Montbron
says to me the same thing--do not think I shall stand with my arms
folded until the morning."

"But, father--"

"It is enough," resumed the soldier in an abrupt voice: "I have made
up my mind. Run to the commissary, my boy; wait for us at home, my good
girl; I will go to the Count. Give me the ring. Now for the address!"

"The Count de Montbron, No. 7, Place Vendome," said she; "you come on
behalf of Mdlle. de Cardoville."

"I have a good memory," answered the soldier. "We will meet as soon as
possible in the Rue Brise-Miche."

"Yes, father; have good courage. You will see that the law protects and
defends honest people."

"So much the better," said the soldier; "because, otherwise, honest
people would be obliged to protect and defend themselves. Farewell, my
children! we will meet soon in the Rue Brise-Miche."

When Dagobert, Agricola, and Mother Bunch separated, it was already dark
night.

CHAPTER X. THE MEETING.

It is eight o'clock in the evening, the rain dashes against the windows
of Frances Baudoin's apartment in the Rue Brise-Miche, while violent
squalls of wind shake the badly dosed doors and casements. The disorder
and confusion of this humble abode, usually kept with so much care and
neatness, bore testimony to the serious nature of the sad events which
had thus disturbed existences hitherto peaceful in their obscurity.

The paved floor was soiled with mud, and a thick layer of dust covered
the furniture, once so bright and clean. Since Frances was taken away by
the commissary, the bed had not been made; at night Dagobert had thrown
himself upon it for a few hours in his clothes, when, worn out with
fatigue, and crushed by despair, he had returned from new and vain
attempts to discover Rose and Blanche's prison-house. Upon the drawers
stood a bottle, a glass, and some fragments of dry bread, proving the
frugality of the soldier, whose means of subsistence were reduced to the
money lent by the pawnbroker upon the things pledged by Mother Bunch,
after the arrest of Frances.

By the faint glimmer of a candle, placed upon the little stove, now cold
as marble, for the stock o