“No, father, we will never separate again,” said Agricola, stifling a sigh.  “My mother and I will both try to make you forget all that you have suffered.”

“Suffered!” exclaimed Dagobert, “who the deuce has suffered?  Look me well in the face; and see if I have a look of suffering!  Bombs and bayonets!  Since I have put my foot here, I feel myself quite a young man again!  You shall see me march soon:  I bet that I tire you out!  You must rig yourself up something extra!  Lord, how they will stare at us!  I wager that in beholding your black moustache and my gray one, folks will say, behold father and son!  But let us settle what we are to do with the day.  You will write to the father of Marshal Simon, informing him the his grand-daughters have arrived, and that it is necessary that he should hasten his return to Paris; for he has charged himself with matters which are of great importance for them.  While you are writing, I will go down to say good-morning to my wife, and to the dear little ones.  We will then eat a morsel.  Your mother will go to mass; for I perceive that she likes to be regular at that:  the good soul! no great harm, if it amuse her! and during her absence, we will make a raid together.”

“Father,” said Agricola, with embarrassment, “this morning it is out of my power to accompany you.”

“How! out of your power?” said Dagobert; “recollect this is Monday!”

“Yes, father,” said Agricola, hesitatingly; “but I have promised to attend all the morning in the workshop, to finish a job that is required in a hurry.  If I fail to do so, I shall inflict some injury upon M. Hardy.  But I’ll soon be at liberty.”

“That alters the case,” said Dagobert, with a sigh of regret.  “I thought to make my first parade through Paris with you this morning; but it must be deferred in favor of your work.  It is sacred:  since it is that which sustains your mother.  Nevertheless, it is vexatious, devilish vexatious.  And yet no—­I am unjust.  See how quickly one gets habituated to and spoilt by happiness.  I growl like a true grumbler, at a walk being put off for a few hours!  I do this!  I who, during eighteen years, have only hoped to see you once more, without daring to reckon very much upon it!  Oh!  I am but a silly old fool!  Vive l’amour et cogni—­I mean—­my Agricola!” And, to console himself, the old soldier gayly slapped his son’s shoulder.

This seemed another omen of evil to the blacksmith; for he dreaded one moment to another lest the fears of Mother Bunch should be realized.  “Now that I have recovered myself,” said Dagobert, laughing, “let us speak of business.  Know you where I find the addresses of all the notaries in Paris?”

“I don’t know; but nothing is more easy than to discover it.”

“My reason is,” resumed Dagobert, “that I sent from Russia by post, and by order of the mother of the two children that I have brought here, some important papers to a Parisian notary.  As it was my duty to see this notary immediately upon my arrival, I had written his name and his address in a portfolio, of which however, I have been robbed during my journey; and as I have forgotten his devil of a name, it seems to me, that if I should see it again in the list of notaries, I might recollect it.”