creature; the prospect before her was to die of hunger, if she would not beg or steal. As for her visit to the lodge in the Rue de Babylone, it will be explained presently.
She rang the bell timidly; a few minutes after, Florine opened the door to her. The waiting-maid was no longer adorned after the charming taste of Adrienne; on the contrary, she was dressed with an affectation of austere simplicity. She wore a high-necked dress of a dark color, made full enough to conceal the light elegance of her figure. Her bands of jet-black hair were hardly visible beneath the flat border of a starched white cap, very much resembling the head-dress of a nun. Yet, in spite of this unornamental costume, Florine's pale countenance was still admirably beautiful.
We have said that, placed by former misconduct at the mercy of Rodin and M. d'Aigrigny, Florine had served them as a spy upon her mistress, notwithstanding the marks of kindness and confidence she had received from her. Yet Florine was not entirely corrupted; and she often suffered painful, but vain, remorse at the thought of the infamous part she was thus obliged to perform.
At the sight of Mother Bunch, whom she recognized—for she had told her, the day before, of Agricola's arrest and Mdlle. de Cardoville's madness—Florine recoiled a step, so much was she moved with pity at the appearance of the young sempstress. In fact, the idea of being thrown out of work, in the midst of so many other painful circumstances, had made a terrible impression upon the young workwoman, the traces of recent tears furrowed her cheeks—without her knowing it, her features expressed the deepest despair—and she appeared so exhausted, so weak, so overcome, that Florine offered her arm to support her, and said to her kindly: 'Pray walk in and rest yourself; you are very pale, and seem to be ill and fatigued.'
So saying, Florine led her into a small room; with fireplace and carpet, and made her sit down in a tapestried armchair by the side of a good fire. Georgette and Hebe had been dismissed, and Florine was left alone in care of the house.
When her guest was seated, Florine said to her with an air of interest: 'Will you not take anything? A little orange flower-water and sugar, warm.'
'I thank you, mademoiselle,' said Mother Bunch, with emotion, so easily was her gratitude excited by the least mark of kindness; she felt, too, a pleasing surprise, that her poor garments had not been the cause of repugnance or disdain on the part of Florine.
'I thank you, mademoiselle,' said she, 'but I only require a little rest, for I come from a great distance. If you will permit me—'
'Pray rest yourself as long as you like, mademoiselle; I am alone in this pavilion since the departure of my poor mistress,'—here Florine blushed and sighed;—'so, pray make yourself quite at home. Draw near the fire—you wilt be more comfortable—and, gracious! how wet your feet are!—place them upon this stool.'
The cordial reception given by Florine, her handsome face and agreeable manners, which were not those of an ordinary waiting-maid, forcibly struck Mother Bunch, who, notwithstanding her humble condition, was peculiarly susceptible to the influence of everything graceful and delicate. Yielding, therefore, to these attractions, the young sempstress, generally so timid and sensitive, felt herself almost at her ease with Florine.
'How obliging you are, mademoiselle!' said she in a grateful tone. 'I am quite confused with your kindness.'
'I wish I could do you some greater service than offer you a place at the fire, mademoiselle. Your appearance is so good and interesting.'
'Oh, mademoiselle!' said the other, with simplicity, almost in spite of herself; 'it does one so much good to sit by a warm fire!' Then, fearing, in her extreme delicacy, that she might be thought capable of abusing the hospitality of her entertainer, by unreasonably prolonging her visit, she added: 'the motive that has brought me here is this. Yesterday, you informed me that a young workman, named Agricola Baudoin, had been arrested in this house.'
'Alas! yes, mademoiselle. At the moment, too, when my poor mistress was about to render him assistance.'
'I am Agricola's adopted sister,' resumed Mother Bunch, with a slight blush; 'he wrote to me yesterday evening from prison. He begged me to tell his father to come here as soon as possible, in order to inform Mdlle. de Cardoville that he, Agricola, had important matters to communicate to her, or to any person that she might send; but that he could not venture to mention them in a letter, as he did not know if the correspondence of prisoners might not be read by the governor of the prison.'
'What!' said Florine, with surprise; 'to my mistress, M. Agricola has something of importance to communicate?'
'Yes, mademoiselle; for, up to this time, Agricola is ignorant of the great calamity that has befallen Mdlle. de Cardoville.'
'True; the attack was indeed so sudden,' said Florine, casting down her eyes, 'that no one could have foreseen it.'
'It must have been so,' answered Mother Bunch; 'for, when Agricola saw Mdlle. de Cardoville for the first time, he returned home, struck with her grace, and delicacy, and goodness.'
'As were all who approached my mistress,' said Florine, sorrowfully.
'This morning,' resumed the sewing-girl, 'when, according to Agricola's instructions, I wished to speak to his father on the subject, I found him already gone out, for he also is a prey to great anxieties; but my adopted brother's letter appeared to me so pressing, and to involve something of such consequence to Mdlle. de Cardoville, who had shown herself so generous towards him, that I came here immediately.'
'Unfortunately, as you already know, my mistress is no longer here.'
'But is there no member of her family to whom, if I could not speak myself, I might at least send word by you, that Agricola has something to communicate of importance to this young lady?'
'It is strange!' said Florine, reflecting, and without replying. Then, turning towards the sempstress, she added: 'You are quite ignorant of the nature of these revelations?'
'Completely so, mademoiselle; but I know Agricola. He is all honor and truth, and you may believe whatever he affirms. Besides, he would have no interest—'
'Good gracious!' interrupted Florine, suddenly, as if struck with a sadden light; 'I have just remembered something. When he was arrested in a hiding-place where my mistress had concealed him, I happened to be close at hand, and M. Agricola said to me, in a quick whisper: 'Tell your generous mistress that her goodness to me will not go unrewarded, and that my stay in that hiding-place may not be useless to her.' That was all he could say to me, for they hurried him off instantly. I confess that I saw in those words only the expression of his gratitude, and his hope of proving it one day to my mistress; but now that I connect them with the letter he has written you—' said Florine, reflecting.
'Indeed!' remarked Mother Bunch, 'there is certainly some connection between his hiding-place here and the important secrets which he wishes to communicate to your mistress, or one of her family.'
'The hiding-place had neither been inhabited nor visited for some time,' said Florine, with a thoughtful air; 'M. Agricola may have found therein something of interest to my mistress.'
'If his letter had not appeared to me so pressing,' resumed the other, 'I should not have come hither; but have left him to do so himself, on his release from prison, which now, thanks to the generosity of one of his old fellow-workmen, cannot be very distant. But, not knowing if bail would be accepted to-day, I have wished faithfully to perform his instructions. The generous kindness of your mistress made it my first duty.'
Like all persons whose better instincts are still roused from time to time, Florine felt a sort of consolation in doing good whenever she could with impunity—that is to say, without exposing herself to the inexorable resentments of those on whom she depended. Thanks to Mother Bunch, she might now have an opportunity of rendering a great service to her mistress. She knew enough of the Princess de Saint-Dizier's hatred of her niece, to feel certain that Agricola's communication could not, from its very importance, be made with safety to any but Mdlle. de Cardoville herself. She therefore said very gravely: 'Listen to me, mademoiselle! I will give you a piece of advice which will, I think, be useful to my poor mistress—but which would be very fatal to me if you did not attend to my recommendations.'
'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
