inking how painful that thought must be to the poor girl, a large tear
filled his eyes, and, holding out his hands, he said, in a brotherly
tone, "Forgive my heedlessness! Come, kiss me." And he gave her thin,
pale cheeks two hearty kisses.

The poor girl's lips turned pale at this cordial caress; and her heart
beat so violently that she was obliged to lean against the corner of the
table.

"Come, you forgive me, do you not?" said Agricola.

"Yes! yes!" she said, trying to subdue her emotion; "but the
recollection of that quarrel pains me--I was so alarmed on your account;
if the crowd had sided with that man!"

"Alas!" said Frances, coming to the sewing-girl's relief, without
knowing it, "I was never so afraid in all my life!"

"Oh, mother," rejoined Agricola, trying to change a conversation which
had now become disagreeable for the sempstress, "for the wife of a horse
grenadier of the Imperial Guard, you have not much courage. Oh, my brave
father; I can't believe he is really coming! The very thought turns me
topsy-turvy!"

"Heaven grant he may come," said Frances, with a sigh.

"God grant it, mother. He will grant it, I should think. Lord knows, you
have had masses enough said for his return."

"Agricola, my child," said Frances, interrupting her son, and shaking
her head sadly, "do not speak in that way. Besides, you are talking of
your father."

"Well, I'm in for it this evening. 'Tis your turn now; positively, I am
growing stupid, or going crazy. Forgive me, mother! forgive! That's the
only word I can get out to-night. You know that, when I do let out on
certain subjects, it is because I can't help it; for I know well the
pain it gives you."

"You do not offend me, my poor, dear, misguided boy."

"It comes to the same thing; and there is nothing so bad as to offend
one's mother; and, with respect to what I said about father's return, I
do not see that we have any cause to doubt it."

"But we have not heard from him for four months."

"You know, mother, in his letter--that is, in the letter which he
dictated (for you remember that, with the candor of an old soldier,
he told us that, if he could read tolerably well, he could not write);
well, in that letter he said we were not to be anxious about him; that
he expected to be in Paris about the end of January, and would send us
word, three or four days before, by what road he expected to arrive,
that I might go and meet him."

"True, my child; and Fe