hen, father, the superior will reply to you that she does not know what
you mean, and that the young ladies are not in the convent."

"And I will reply to her, that they are in the convent witness--Mother
Bunch and Spoil-sport."

"The superior will answer, that she does not know you; that she has no
explanations to give you; and will close the wicket."

"Then I break it open--since one must come to that in the end--so leave
me alone, I tell you! 'sblood! leave me alone!"

"And, on this noise and violence, the porter will run and fetch the
guard, and they will begin by arresting you."

"And what will become of your poor children, then, M. Dagobert?" said
Mother Bunch.

Agricola's father had too much good sense not to feel the truth of these
observations of the girl and his son; but he knew also, that, cost what
it might, the orphans must be delivered before the morrow. The
alternative was terrible--so terrible, that, pressing his two hands to
his burning forehead, Dagobert sunk back upon a stone bench, as if struck
down by the inexorable fatality of the dilemma.

Agricola and the workwoman, deeply moved by this mute despair, exchanged
a sad look. The smith, seating himself beside the soldier, said to him:
"Do not be down-hearted, father. Remember what's been told you. By going
with this ring of Mdlle. de Cardoville's to the influential gentleman she
named, the young ladies may be free by to-morrow, or, at worst, by the
day after."

"Blood and thunder! you want to drive me mad!" exclaimed Dagobert,
starting up from the bench, and looking at Mother Bunch and his son with
so savage an expression that Agricola and the sempstress drew back, with
an air of surprise and uneasiness.

"Pardon me, my children!" said Dagobert, recovering himself after a long
silence. "I am wrong to get in a passion, for we do not understand one
another. What you say is true; and yet I am right to speak as I do.
Listen to me. You are an honest man, Agricola; you an honest girl; what I
tell you is meant for you alone. I have brought these children from the
depths of Siberia--do you know why? That they may be to-morrow morning in
the Rue Saint-Francois. If they are not there, I have failed to execute
the last wish of their dying mother."

"No. 3, Rue Saint Francois?" cried Agricola, interrupting his father.

"Yes; how do you know the number?" said Dagobert.

"Is not the date inscribed on a bronze medal?"

"Yes," replied Dagobert, more e