“How so, mademoiselle?” said the hunchback, looking at Florine with extreme surprise.

“For the sake of my mistress, M. Agricola must confide to no one, except herself, the important things he has to communicate.”

“But, if he cannot see Mdlle.  Adrienne, may he not address himself to some of her family?”

“It is from her family, above all, that he must conceal whatever he knows.  Mdlle.  Adrienne may recover, and then M. Agricola can speak to her.  But should she never get well again, tell your adopted brother that it is better for him to keep his secret than to place it (which would infallibly happen) at the disposal of the enemies of my mistress.”

“I understand you, mademoiselle,” said Mother Bunch, sadly.  “The family of your generous mistress do not love her, and perhaps persecute her?”

“I cannot tell you more on this subject now; and, as regards myself, let me conjure you to obtain M. Agricola’s promise that he will not mention to any one in the world the step you have taken, or the advice I have given you.  The happiness—­no, not the happiness,” resumed Florine bitterly, as if that were a lost hope, “not the happiness—­but the peace of my life depends upon your discretion.”

“Oh! be satisfied!” said the sewing-girl, both affected and amazed by the sorrowful expression of Florine’s countenance; “I will not be ungrateful.  No one in the world but Agricola shall know that I have seen you.”

“Thank you—­thank you, mademoiselle,” cried Florine, with emotion.

“Do you thank me?” said the other, astonished to see the large tears roll down her cheeks.

“Yes!  I am indebted to you for a moment of pure, unmixed happiness; for I have perhaps rendered a service to my dear mistress, without risking the increase of the troubles that already overwhelm me.”

“You are not happy, then?”

“That astonishes you; but, believe me, whatever may be, your fate, I would gladly change with you.”

“Alas, mademoiselle!” said the sempstress:  “you appear to have too good a heart, for me to let you entertain such a wish—­particularly now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hope sincerely, mademoiselle,” proceeded Mother Bunch, with deep sadness, “that you may never know what it is to want work, when labor is your only resource.”

“Are you reduced to that extremity?” cried Florine, looking anxiously at the young sempstress, who hung her head, and made no answer.  She reproached herself, in her excessive delicacy, with having made a communication which resembled a complaint, though it had only been wrung from her by the thought of her dreadful situation.

“If it is so,” went on Florine, “I pity you with all my heart; and yet I know not, if my misfortunes are not still greater than yours.”

Then, after a moment’s reflection, Florine exclaimed, suddenly:  “But let me see!  If you are really in that position, I think I can procure you some work.”