glowing, generous heart, a superior mind, and a frank, pleasing gayety of spirits. The young girl, brought up with him, loved him as an unfortunate creature can love, who, dreading cruel ridicule, is obliged to hide her affection in the depths of her heart, and adopt reserve and deep dissimulation. She did not seek to combat her love; to what purpose should she do so? No one would ever know it. Her well known sisterly affection for Agricola explained the interest she took in all that concerned him; so that no one was surprised at the extreme grief of the young workwoman, when, in 1830, Agricola, after fighting intrepidly for the people's flag, was brought bleeding home to his mother. Dagobert's son, deceived, like others, on this point, had never suspected, and was destined never to suspect, this love for him.
Such was the poorly-clad girl who entered the room in which Frances was preparing her son's supper.
"Is it you, my poor love," said she; "I have not seen you since morning: have you been ill? Come and kiss me."
The young girl kissed Agricola's mother, and replied: "I was very busy about some work, mother; I did not wish to lose a moment; I have only just finished it. I am going down to fetch some charcoal—do you want anything while I'm out?"
"No, no, my child, thank you. But I am very uneasy. It is half-past eight, and Agricola is not come home." Then she added, after a sigh: "He kills himself with work for me. Ah, I am very unhappy, my girl; my sight is quite going. In a quarter of an hour after I begin working, I cannot see at all—not even to sew sacks. The idea of being a burden to my son drives me distracted."
"Oh, don't, ma'am, if Agricola heard you say that—"
"I know the poor boy thinks of nothing but me, and that augments my vexation. Only I think that rather than leave me, he gives up the advantages that his fellow-workmen enjoy at Hardy's, his good and worthy master—instead of living in this dull garret, where it is scarcely light at noon, he would enjoy, like the other workmen, at very little expense, a good light room, warm in winter, airy in summer, with a view of the garden. And he is so fond of trees! not to mention that this place is so far from his work, that it is quite a toil to him to get to it."
"Oh, when he embraces you he forgets his fatigue, Mrs. Baudoin," said Mother Bunch; "besides, he knows how you cling to the house in which he was born. M. Hardy offered to settle you at Plessy with Agricola, in the building put up for the workmen."
"Yes, my child; but then I must give up church. I can't do that."
"But—be easy, I hear him," said the hunchback, blushing.
A sonorous, joyous voice was heard singing on the stairs.
"At least, I'll not let him see that I have been crying," said the good mother, drying her tears. "This is the only moment of rest and ease from toil he has—I must not make it sad to him."
CHAPTER XXIX.
AGRICOLA BAUDOIN.
Our blacksmith poet, a tall young man, about four-and-twenty years of age, was alert and robust, with ruddy complexion, dark hair and eyes, and aquiline nose, and an open, expressive countenance. His resemblance to Dagobert was rendered more striking by the thick brown moustache which he wore according to the fashion; and a sharp-pointed imperial covered his chin. His cheeks, however, were shaven, Olive color velveteen trousers, a blue blouse, bronzed by the forge smoke, a black cravat, tied carelessly round his muscular neck, a cloth cap with a narrow vizor, composed his dress. The only thing which contrasted singularly with his working habiliments was a handsome purple flower, with silvery pistils, which he held in his hand.
"Good-evening, mother," said he, as he came to kiss Frances immediately.
Then, with a friendly nod, he added, "Good-evening, Mother Bunch."
"You are very late, my child," said Frances, approaching the little stove on which her son's simple meal was simmering; "I was getting very anxious."
"Anxious about me, or about my supper, dear mother?" said Agricola, gayly. "The deuce! you won't excuse me for keeping the nice little supper waiting that you get ready for me, for fear it should be spoilt, eh?"
So saying, the blacksmith tried to kiss his mother again.
"Have done, you naughty boy; you'll make me upset the pan."
"That would be a pity, mother; for it smells delightfully. Let's see what it is."
"Wait half a moment."
"I'll swear, now, you have some of the fried potatoes and bacon I'm so fond of."
"Being Saturday, of course!" said Frances, in a tone of mild reproach.
"True," rejoined Agricola, exchanging a smile of innocent cunning with
Mother Bunch; "but, talking of Saturday, mother, here are my wages."
"Thank ye, child; put the money in the cupboard."
"Yes, mother!"
"Oh, dear!" cried the young sempstress, just as Agricola was about to put away the money, "what a handsome flower you have in your hand, Agricola. I never saw a finer. In winter, too! Do look at it, Mrs. Baudoin."
"See there, mother," said Agricola, taking the flower to her; "look at it, admire it, and especially smell it. You can't have a sweeter perfume; a blending of vanilla and orange blossom."
"Indeed, it does smell nice, child. Goodness! how handsome!" said
Frances, admiringly; "where did you find it?"
"Find it, my good mother!" repeated Agricola, smilingly: "do you think folks pick up such things between the Barriere du Maine and the Rue Brise-Miche?"
"How did you get it then?" inquired the sewing girl, sharing in Frances's curiosity.
"Oh! you would like to know? Well, I'll satisfy you, and explain why I came home so late; for something else detained me. It has been an evening of adventures, I promise you. I was hurrying home, when I heard a low, gentle barking at the corner of the Rue de Babylone; it was just about dusk, and I could see a very pretty little dog, scarce bigger than my fist, black and tan, with long, silky hair, and ears that covered its paws."
"Lost, poor thing, I warrant," said Frances.
"You've hit it. I took up the poor thing, and it began to lick my hands. Round its neck was a red satin ribbon, tied in a large bow; but as that did not bear the master's name, I looked beneath it, and saw a small collar, made of a gold plate and small gold chains. So I took a Lucifer match from my 'bacco-box, and striking a light, I read, 'FRISKY belongs to Hon. Miss Adrienne de Cardoville, No. 7, Rue de Babylone.'"
"Why, you were just in the street," said Mother Bunch.
"Just so. Taking the little animal under my arm, I looked about me till I came to a long garden wall, which seemed to have no end, and found a small door of a summer-house, belonging no doubt to the large mansion at the other end of the park; for this garden looked just like a park. So, looking up I saw 'No. 7,' newly painted over a little door with a grated slide. I rang; and in a few minutes, spent, no doubt, in observing me through the bars (for I am sure I saw a pair of eyes peeping
