madame; if M. Hardy were in danger, I should not be so quiet in talking to you about him.’—­’Oh! thank God! thank God!’ cried the young lady.  Then she expressed to me her gratitude, with so happy, so feeling an air, that I was quite touched by it.  But suddenly, as if then only she felt ashamed of the step she had taken, she let down her veil, left me precipitately, went out of the court-yard, and got once more into the hackney-coach that had brought her.  I said to myself:  ’This is a lady who takes great interest in M. Hardy, and has been alarmed by a false report."’

“She loves him, doubtless,” said Mother Bunch, much moved, “and, in her anxiety, she perhaps committed an act of imprudence, in coming to inquire after him.”

“It is only too true.  I saw her get into the coach with interests, for her emotion had infected me.  The coach started—­and what did I see a few seconds after?  A cab, which the young lady could not have perceived, for it had been hidden by an angle of the wall; and, as it turned round the corner, I distinguished perfectly a man seated by the driver’s side, and making signs to him to take the same road as the hackney-coach.”

“The poor young lady was followed,” said Mother Bunch, anxiously.

“No doubt of it; so I instantly hastened after the coach, reached it, and through the blinds that were let down, I said to the young lady, whilst I kept running by the side of the coach door:  ’Take care, madame; you are followed by a cab.

“Well, Agricola! and what did she answer?”

“I heard her exclaim, ‘Great Heaven!’ with an accent of despair.  The coach continued its course.  The cab soon came up with me; I saw, by the side of the driver, a great, fat, ruddy man, who, having watched me running after the coach, no doubt suspected something, for he looked at me somewhat uneasily.”

“And when does M. Hardy return?” asked the hunchback.

“To-morrow, or the day after.  Now, my good sister, advise me.  It is evident that this young lady loves M. Hardy.  She is probably married, for she looked so embarrassed when she spoke to me, and she uttered a cry of terror on learning that she was followed.  What shall I do?  I wished to ask advice of Father Simon, but he is so very strict in such matters—­and then a love affair, at his age!—­while you are so delicate and sensible, my good sister, that you will understand it all.”

The girl started, and smiled bitterly; Agricola did not perceive it, and thus continued:  “So I said to myself, ’There is only Mother Bunch, who can give me good advice.’  Suppose M. Hardy returns to-morrow, shall I tell him what has passed or not?”

“Wait a moment,” cried the other, suddenly interrupting Agricola, and appearing to recollect something; “when I went to St. Mary’s Convent, to ask for work of the superior, she proposed that I should be employed by the day, in a house in which I was to watch or, in other words, to act as a spy—­”