After remaining for some moments pensive and silent, the soldier approached the bed, took a sheet from it, appeared to measure its length, and then said, turning towards Mother Bunch:  “The scissors!”

“But, M. Dagobert—­”

“Come, my good girl! the scissors!” replied Dagobert, in a kind tone, but one that commanded obedience.  The sempstress took the scissors from Frances’ work-basket, and presented them to the soldier.

“Now, hold the other end of the sheet, my girl, and draw it out tight.”

In a few minutes, Dagobert had cut the sheet into four strips, which he twisted in the fashion of cords, fastening them here and there with bits of tape, so as to preserve the twist, and tying them strongly together, so as to make a rope of about twenty feet long.  This, however, did not suffice him, for he said to himself:  “Now I must have a hook.”

Again he looked around him, and Mother Bunch, more and more frightened, for she now no longer doubted Dagobert’s designs, said to him timidly:  “M.  Dagobert, Agricola has not yet come in.  It may be some good news that makes him so late.”

“Yes,” said the soldier, bitterly, as he continued to cast round his eyes in search of something he wanted; “good news like mine!  But I must have a strong iron hook.”

Still looking about, he found one of the coarse, gray sacks, that Frances was accustomed to make.  He took it, opened it, and said to the work girl:  “Put me the iron bar and the cord into this bag, my girl.  It will be easier to carry.”

“Heavens!” cried she, obeying his directions; “you will not go without seeing Agricola, M. Dagobert?  He may perhaps have some good news to tell you.”

“Be satisfied!  I shall wait for my boy.  I need not start before ten o’clock—­so I have time.”

“Alas, M. Dagobert! have you last all hope?”

“On the contrary.  I have good hope—­but in myself.”

So saying, Dagobert twisted the upper end of the sack, for the purpose of closing it, and placed it on the drawers, by the side of his pistols.

“At all events, you will wait for Agricola, M. Dagobert?”

“Yes, if he arrives before ten o’clock.”

“Alas; you have then quite made up your mind?”

“Quite.  And yet, if I were weak enough to believe in bad omens—­”

“Sometimes, M. Dagobert, omens do not deceive one,” said the girl, hoping to induce the soldier to abandon his dangerous resolution.

“Yes,” resumed Dagobert; “old women say so—­and, although I am not an old woman, what I saw just now weighed heavily on my heart.  After all, I may have taken a feeling of anger for a presentiment.”

“What have you seen?”

“I will tell it you, my good girl; it may help to pass the time, which appears long enough.”  Then, interrupting himself, he exclaimed:  “Was it the half hour that just struck?”

“Yes, M. Dagobert; it is half-past eight.”