t this moment he may
be killing those children by a slow-fire!" exclaimed the soldier, in a
voice of agony. "To separate them from one another was to begin to kill
them. Yes!" added Dagobert, with an exasperation impossible to describe;
"the daughters of Marshal Simon are in the power of the Marquis
d'Aigrigny and his band, and I hesitate to attempt their rescue, for
fear of the galleys! The galleys!" added he, with a convulsive burst of
laughter; "what do I care for the galleys? Can they send a corpse there?
If this last attempt fail, shall I not have the right to blow my brains
out?--Put the iron in the fire, my boy--quick! time presses--and strike
while the iron's hot!"

"But your son goes with you!" exclaimed Frances, with a cry of maternal
despair. Then rising, she threw herself at the feet of Dagobert, and
said: "If you are arrested, he will be arrested also."

"To escape the galleys, he will do as I do. I have two pistols."

"And without you--without him," cried the unhappy mother, extending her
hands in supplication, "what will become of me?"

"You are right--I was too selfish," said Dagobert. "I will go alone."

"You shall not go alone, father," replied Agricola.

"But your mother?"

"Mother Bunch sees what is passing; she will go to Mr. Hardy, my master,
and tell him all. He is the most generous of men, and my mother will
have food and shelter for the rest of her days."

"And I am the cause of all!" cried Frances, wringing her hands in
despair. "Punish me, oh, heaven! for it is my fault. I gave up those
children. I shall be punished by the death of my child!"

"Agricola, you shall not go with me--I forbid it!" said Dagobert,
clasping his son closely to his breast.

"What! when I have pointed out the danger, am I to be the first to
shrink from it? you cannot think thus lowly of me, father! Have I not
also some one to deliver? The good, the generous Mdlle. de Cardoville,
who tried to save me from a prison, is a captive in her turn. I will
follow you, father. It is my right, my duty, my determination."

So saying, Agricola put into the heated stove the tongs that were
intended to form the hook. "Alas! may heaven have pity upon us!" cried
his poor mother, sobbing as she still knelt, whilst the soldier seemed a
prey to the most violent internal struggle.

"Do not cry so, dear mother; you will break my heart," said Agricola,
as he raised her with the sempstress's help. "Be comforted! I have
exaggerated