“You are right—­I was too selfish,” said Dagobert.  “I will go alone.”

“You shall not go alone, father,” replied Agricola.

“But your mother?”

“Mother Bunch sees what is passing; she will go to Mr. Hardy, my master, and tell him all.  He is the most generous of men, and my mother will have food and shelter for the rest of her days.”

“And I am the cause of all!” cried Frances, wringing her hands in despair.  “Punish me, oh, heaven! for it is my fault.  I gave up those children.  I shall be punished by the death of my child!”

“Agricola, you shall not go with me—­I forbid it!” said Dagobert, clasping his son closely to his breast.

“What! when I have pointed out the danger, am I to be the first to shrink from it? you cannot think thus lowly of me, father!  Have I not also some one to deliver?  The good, the generous Mdlle. de Cardoville, who tried to save me from a prison, is a captive in her turn.  I will follow you, father.  It is my right, my duty, my determination.”

So saying, Agricola put into the heated stove the tongs that were intended to form the hook.  “Alas! may heaven have pity upon us!” cried his poor mother, sobbing as she still knelt, whilst the soldier seemed a prey to the most violent internal struggle.

“Do not cry so, dear mother; you will break my heart,” said Agricola, as he raised her with the sempstress’s help.  “Be comforted!  I have exaggerated the danger of my father.  By acting prudently, we two may succeed in our enterprise; without much risk—­eh, father?” added he, with a significant glance at Dagobert.  “Once more, be comforted, dear mother.  I will answer for everything.  We will deliver Marshal Simon’s daughters, and Mdlle. de Cardoville too.  Sister, give me the hammer and pincers, there in the press.”

The sempstress, drying her tears, did as desired, while Agricola, by the help of bellows, revived the fire in which the tongs were heating.

“Here are your tools, Agricola,” said the hunchback, in a deeply-agitated voice, as she presented them with trembling hands to the smith, who, with the aid of the pincers, soon drew from the fire the white-hot tongs, and, with vigorous blows of the hammer, formed them into a hook, taking the stove for his anvil.

Dagobert had remained silent and pensive.  Suddenly he said to Frances, taking her by the hand:  “You know what metal your son is.  To prevent his following me would now be impossible.  But do not be afraid, dear wife; we shall succeed—­at least, I hope so.  And if we should not succeed—­if Agricola and me should be arrested—­well! we are not cowards; we shall not commit suicide; but father and son will go arm in arm to prison, with heads high and proud, look like two brave men who have done their duty.  The day of trial must come, and we will explain all, honestly, openly—­we will say, that, driven to the last extremity, finding no support, no protection in the law, we were forced to have recourse to violence.  So hammer away, my boy!” added Dagobert, addressing his son, pounding the hot iron; “forge, forge, without fear.  Honest judges will absolve honest men.”