Angela cast down her eyes, and blushed.

“Here the workman may safely yield to the hope of knowing the sweet joys of a family, sure of not having his heart torn hereafter by the sight of the horrible privations of those who are dear to him; here, thanks to order and industry, and the wise employment of the strength of all, men, women, and children live happy and contented.  In a ward, to explain all this to you, mademoiselle,” added Agricola, smiling with a still more tender air, “is to prove, that here we can do nothing more reasonable than love, nothing wiser than marry.”

“M.  Agricola,” answered Angela, in a slightly agitated voice, and blushing still more as she spoke, “suppose we were to begin our walk.”

“Directly, mademoiselle,” replied the smith, pleased at the trouble he had excited in that ingenuous soul.  “But, come; we are near the dormitory of the little girls.  The chirping birds have long left their nests.  Let us go there.”

“Willingly, M. Agricola.”

The young smith and Angela soon entered a spacious dormitory, resembling that of a first-rate boarding school.  The little iron bedsteads were arranged in symmetrical order; at each end were the beds of the two mothers of families, who took the superintendence by turns.

“Dear me! how well it is arranged, M. Agricola, and how neat and clean!  Who is it that takes such good care of it?”

“The children themselves; we have no servants here.  There is an extraordinary emulation between these urchins—­as to who shall make her bed most neatly, and it amuses them quite as much as making a bed for their dolls.  Little girls, you know, delight in playing at keeping house.  Well, here they play at it in good earnest, and the house is admirably kept in consequence.”

“Oh!  I understand.  They turn to account their natural taste for all such kinds of amusement.”

“That is the whole secret.  You will see them everywhere usefully occupied, and delighted at the importance of the employments given them.”

“Oh, M. Agricola!” said Angela, timidly, “only compare these fine dormitories, so warm and healthy, with the horrible icy garrets, where children are heaped pell-mell on a wretched straw-mattress, shivering with cold, as in the case with almost all the workmen’s families in our country!”

“And in Paris, mademoiselle, it is even worse.”

“Oh! how kind, generous, and rich must M. Hardy be, to spend so much money in doing good!”

“I am going to astonish you, mademoiselle!” said Agricola, with a smile; “to astonish you so much, that perhaps you will not believe me.”

“Why so, M. Agricola?”

“There is not certainly in the world a man with a better and more generous heart than M. Hardy; he does good for its own sake and without thinking of his personal interest.  And yet, Mdlle.  Angela, were he the most selfish and avaricious of men, he would still find it greatly to his advantage to put us in a position to be as comfortable as we are.”