“Compromise me!” said Agricola; “my verses! in which I only praise the love of labor and of goodness!  To arrest me for that!  If so, justice would be but a blind noodle.  That she might grope her way, it would be necessary to furnish her with a dog and a pilgrim’s staff to guide her steps.”

“Agricola,” resumed Mother Bunch; overwhelmed with anxiety and terror on hearing the blacksmith jest at such a moment, “I conjure you to listen to me!  No doubt you uphold in the verses the sacred love of labor; but you do also grievously deplore and deprecate the unjust lot of the poor laborers, devoted as they are, without hope, to all the miseries of life; you recommend, indeed, only fraternity among men; but your good and noble heart vents its indignation, at the same time, against the selfish and the wicked.  In fine, you fervently hasten on, with the ardor of your wishes, the emancipation of all the artisans who, less fortunate than you, have not generous M. Hardy for employer.  Say, Agricola, in these times of trouble, is there anything more necessary to compromise you than that numerous copies of your song have been found in possession of the persons who have been apprehended?”

Agricola was moved by these affectionate and judicious expressions of an excellent creature, who reasoned from her heart; and he began to view with more seriousness the advice which she had given him.

Perceiving that she had shaken him, the sewing-girl went on to say:  “And then, bear your fellow-workman, Remi, in recollection.”

“Remi!” said Agricola, anxiously.

“Yes,” resumed the sempstress; “a letter of his, a letter in itself quite insignificant, was found in the house of a person arrested last year for conspiracy; and Remi, in consequence, remained a month in prison.”

“That is true, but the injustice of his implication was easily shown, and he was set at liberty.”

“Yes, Agricola:  but not till he had lain a month in prison; and that has furnished the motive of the person who advised you to conceal yourself!  A month in prison!  Good heavens!  Agricola, think of that! and your mother.”

These words made a powerful impression upon Agricola.  He took up the letter and again read it attentively.

“And the man who has been lurking all this evening about the house?” proceeded she.  “I constantly recall that circumstance, which cannot be naturally accounted for.  Alas! what a blow it would be for your father, and poor mother, who is incapable of earning anything.  Are you not now their only resource?  Oh! consider, then, what would become of them without you—­without your labor!”

“It would indeed be terrible,” said Agricola, impatiently casting the letter upon the table.  “What you have said concerning Remi is too true.  He was as innocent as I am:  yet an error of justice, an involuntary error though it be, is not the less cruel.  But they don’t commit a man without hearing him.”