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 February is come, and no news yet."

"The greater reason why we should wait patiently. But I'll tell you more:
I should not be surprised if our good Gabriel were to come back about the
same time. His last letter from America makes me hope so. What pleasure,
mother, should all the family be together!"

"Oh, yes, my child! It would be a happy day for me."

"And that day will soon come, trust me."

"Do you remember your father, Agricola?" inquired Mother Bunch.

"To tell the truth, I remember most his great grenadier's shako and
moustache, which used to frighten me so, that nothing but the red ribbon
of his cross of honor, on the white facings of his uniform, and the
shining handle of his sabre, could pacify me; could it, mother? But what
is the matter? You are weeping!"

"Alas! poor Baudoin! What he must suffer at being separated from us at
his age--sixty and past! Alas! my child, my heart breaks, when I think
that he comes home only to change one kind of poverty for another."

"What do you mean?"

"Alas! I earn nothing now."

"Why, what's become of me? Isn't there a room here for you and for him;
and a table for you too? Only, my good mother, since we are talking of
domestic affairs," added the blacksmith, imparting increased tenderness
to his tone, that he might not shock his mother, "when he and Gabriel
come home, you won't want to have any more masses said, and tapers burned
for them, will you? Well, that saving will enable father to have tobacco
to smoke, and his bottle of wine every day. Then, on Sundays, we will
take a nice dinner at the eating-house."

A knocking at the door disturbed Agricola.

"Come in," said he. Instead of doing so, some one half-opened the door,
and, thrusting in an arm of a pea-green color, made signs to the
blacksmith.

"'Tis old Loriot, the pattern of dyers," said Agricola; "come in, Daddy,
no ceremony."

"Impossible, my lad; I am dripping with dye from head to foot; I should
cover missus's floor with green."

"So much the better. It will remind me of the fields I like so much."

"Without joking, Agricola, I must speak to you immediately."

"About the spy, eh? Oh, be easy; what's he to us?"

"No; I think he's gone; at any rate, the fog is so thick I can't see him.
But that's not it--come, come quickl