“Come into my room, then; we shall be alone,” Mother Bunch, as she went before Agricola.

Notwithstanding the expression of uneasiness which was visible on the countenance of Agricola, he could not forbear smiling with pleasure as he entered the room and looked around him.

“Excellent, my poor sister! this is how I would always have you lodged.  I recognize here the hand of Mdlle. de Cardoville.  What a heart! what a noble mind!—­Dost know, she wrote to me the day before yesterday, to thank me for what I had done for her, and sent me a gold pin (very plain), which she said I need not hesitate to accept, as it had no other value but that of having been worn by her mother!  You can’t tell how much I was affected by the delicacy of this gift!”

“Nothing must astonish you from a heart like hers,” answered the hunchback.  “But the wound—­the wound?”

“Presently, my good sister; I have so many things to tell you.  Let us begin by what is most pressing, for I want you to give me some good advice in a very serious case.  You know how much confidence I have in your excellent heart and judgment.  And then, I have to ask of you a service—­oh! a great service,” added the smith, in an earnest, and almost solemn tone, which astonished his hearer.  “Let us begin with what is not personal to myself.”

“Speak quickly.”

“Since my mother went with Gabriel to the little country curacy he has obtained, and since my father lodges with Marshal Simon and the young ladies, I have resided, you know, with my mates, at M. Hardy’s factory, in the common dwelling-house.  Now, this morning but first, I must tell you that M. Hardy, who has lately returned from a journey, is again absent for a few days on business.  This morning, then, at the hour of breakfast, I remained at work a little after the last stroke of the bell; I was leaving the workshop to go to our eating-room, when I saw entering the courtyard, a lady who had just got out of a hackney-coach.  I remarked that she was fair, though her veil was half down; she had a mild and pretty countenance, and her dress was that of a fashionable lady.  Struck with her paleness, and her anxious, frightened air, I asked her if she wanted anything.  ‘Sir,’ said she to me, in a trembling voice, and as if with a great effort, ’do you belong to this factory?’—­’Yes, madame.’—­’M.  Hardy is then in clanger?’ she exclaimed.—­’M.  Hardy, madame?  He has not yet returned home.’—­’What!’ she went on, ’M.  Hardy did not come hither yesterday evening?  Was he not dangerously wounded by some of the machinery?’ As she said these words, the poor young lady’s lips trembled, and I saw large tears standing in her eyes.  ’Thank God, madame! all this is entirely false,’ said I, ’for M. Hardy has not returned, and indeed is only expected by to-morrow or the day after.’—­’You are quite sure that he has not returned! quite sure that he is not hurt?’ resumed the pretty young lady, drying her eyes.—­’Quite sure,