“But they arrest him first, and hear him afterwards,” said Mother Bunch, bitterly; “and then, after a month or two, they restore him his liberty.  And if he have a wife and children, whose only means of living is his daily labor, what becomes of them while their only supporter is in prison?  They suffer hunger, they endure cold, and they weep!”

At these simple and pathetic words, Agricola trembled.

“A month without work,” he said, with a sad and thoughtful air.  “And my mother, and father, and the two young ladies who make part of our family until the arrival in Paris of their father, Marshal Simon.  Oh! you are right.  That thought, in spite of myself, affrights me!”

“Agricola!” exclaimed the girl impetuously; “suppose you apply to M. Hardy; he is so good, and his character is so much esteemed and honored, that, if he offered bail for you, perhaps they would give up their persecution?”

“Unfortunately,” replied Agricola, “M.  Hardy is absent; he is on a journey with Marshal Simon.”

After a silence of some time, Agricola, striving to surmount his fear, added:  “But no!  I cannot give credence to this letter.  After all, I had rather await what may come.  I’ll at least have the chance of proving my innocence on my first examination:  for indeed, my good sister, whether it be that I am in prison or that I fly to conceal myself, my working for my family will be equally prevented.”

“Alas! that is true,” said the poor girl; “what is to be done!  Oh, what is to be done?”

“My brave father,” said Agricola to himself, “if this misfortune happen to-morrow, what an awakening it will be for him, who came here to sleep so joyously!” The blacksmith buried his face in his hands.

Unhappily Mother Bunch’s fears were too well-founded, for it will be recollected that at that epoch of the year 1832, before and after the Rue des Prouvaires conspiracy, a very great number of arrests had been made among the working classes, in consequence of a violent reaction against democratical ideas.

Suddenly, the girl broke the silence which had been maintained for some seconds.  A blush colored her features, which bore the impressions of an indefinable expression of constraint, grief, and hope.

“Agricola, you are saved!”

“What say you?” he asked.

“The young lady, so beautiful, so good, who gave you this flower” (she showed it to the blacksmith) “who has known how to make reparation with so much delicacy for having made a painful offer, cannot but have a generous heart.  You must apply to her—­”

With these words which seemed to be wrung from her by a violent effort over herself, great tears rolled down her cheeks.  For the first time in her life she experienced a feeling of grievous jealousy.  Another woman was so happy as to have the power of coming to the relief of him whom she idolized; while she herself, poor creature, was powerless and wretched.