“For, all the world it does.  I am quite astounded, even now, at my adventure; it is like the remembrance of a dream.”

“Well, let us have it,” said the worthy mother, so deeply interested that she did not perceive her son’s supper was beginning to burn.

“First,” said the blacksmith, smiling at the curiosity he had excited, “a young lady opened the door to me, but so lovely, so beautifully and gracefully dressed, that you would have taken her for a beautiful portrait of past times.  Before I could say a word, she exclaimed, ’Ah! dear me, sir, you have brought back Frisky; how happy Miss Adrienne will be!  Come, pray come in instantly; she would so regret not having an opportunity to thank you in person!’ And without giving me time to reply, she beckoned me to follow her.  Oh, dear mother, it is quite out of my power to tell you, the magnificence I saw, as I passed through a small saloon, partially lighted, and full of perfume!  It would be impossible.  The young woman walked too quickly.  A door opened,—­Oh, such a sight!  I was so dazzled I can remember nothing but a great glare of gold and light, crystal and flowers; and, amidst all this brilliancy, a young lady of extreme beauty—­ideal beauty; but she had red hair, or rather hair shining like gold!  Oh! it was charming to look at!  I never saw such hair before.  She had black eyes, ruddy lips, and her skin seemed white as snow.  This is all I can recollect:  for, as I said before, I was so dazzled, I seemed to be looking through a veil.  ‘Madame,’ said the young woman, whom I never should have taken for a lady’s-maid, she was dressed so elegantly, ’here is Frisky.  This gentleman found him, and brought him back.’  ‘Oh, sir,’ said the young lady with the golden hair, in a sweet silvery voice, ’what thanks I owe you!  I am foolishly attached to Frisky.’  Then, no doubt, concluding from my dress that she ought to thank me in some other way than by words, she took up a silk purse, and said to me, though I must confess with some hesitation—­’No doubt, sir, it gave you some trouble to bring my pet back.  You have, perhaps, lost some valuable time—­allow me—­’ She held forth her purse.”

“Oh, Agricola,” said Mother Bunch, sadly; “how people may be deceived!”

“Hear the end, and you will perhaps forgive the young lady.  Seeing by my looks that the offer of the purse hurt me, she took a magnificent porcelain vase that contained this flower, and, addressing me in a tone full of grace and kindness, that left me room to guess that she was vexed at having wounded me, she said—­’At least, sir, you will accept this flower.’”

“You are right, Agricola,” said the girl, smiling sadly; “an involuntary error could not be repaired in a nicer way.

“Worthy young lady,” said Frances, wiping her eyes; “how well she understood my Agricola!”