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.'
'Is it possible, mademoiselle?' cried Mother Bunch. 'I should never have dared to ask you such a service; but your generous offer commands my confidence, and may save me from destruction. I will confess to you, that, only this morning, I was thrown out of an employment which enabled me to earn four francs a week.'
'Four francs a week!' exclaimed Florine, hardly able to believe what she heard.
'It was little, doubtless,' replied the other; 'but enough for me. Unfortunately, the person who employed me, has found out where it can be done still cheaper.'
'Four francs a week!' repeated Florine, deeply touched by so much misery and resignation. 'Well! I think I can introduce you to persons, who will secure you wages of at least two francs a day.'
'I could earn two francs a day? Is it possible?'
'Yes, there is no doubt of it; only, you will have to go out by the day, unless you chose to take a pace as servant.'
'In my position,' said Mother Bunch, with a mixture of timidity and pride, 'one has no right, I know, to be overnice; yet I should prefer to go out by the day, and still more to remain at home, if possible, even though I were to gain less.'
'To go out is unfortunately an indispensable condition,' said Florine.
'Then I must renounce this hope,' answered Mother Bunch, timidly; 'not that I refuse to go out to work—but those who do so, are expected to be decently clad—and I confess without shame, because there is no disgrace in honest poverty, that I have no better clothes than these.'
'If that be all,' said Florine, hastily, 'they will find you the means of dressing yourself properly.'
Mother Bunch looked at Florine with increasing surprise. These offers were so much above what she could have hoped, and what indeed was generally earned by needlewomen, that she could hardly credit them.
'But,' resumed she, with hesitation, 'why should any one be so generous to me, mademoiselle? How should I deserve such high wages?'
Florine started. A natural impulse of the heart, a desire to be useful to the sempstress, whose mildness and resignation greatly interested her, had led her to make a hasty proposition; she knew at what price would have to be purchased the advantages she proposed, and she now asked herself, if the hunchback would ever accept them on such terms. But Florine had gone too far to recede, and she durst not tell all. She resolved, therefore, to leave the future to chance and as those, who have themselves fallen, are little disposed to believe in the infallibility of others, Florine said to herself, that perhaps in the desperate position in which she was, Mother Bunch would not be so scrupulous after all. Therefore she said: 'I see, mademoiselle, that you are astonished at offers so much above what you usually gain; but I must tell you, that I am now speaking of a pious institution, founded to procure work for deserving young women. This establishment, which is called St. Mary's Society, undertakes to place them out as servants, or by the day as needlewomen. Now this institution is managed by such charitable persons, that they themselves undertake to supply an outfit, when the young women, received under their protection are not sufficiently well clothed to accept the places destined for them.'
This plausible explanation of Florine's magnificent offers appeared to satisfy the hearer. 'I can now understand the high wages of which you speak, mademoiselle,' resumed she; 'only I have no claim to be patronized by the charitable persons who direct this establishment.'
'You suffer—you are laborious and honest—those are sufficient claims; only, I must tell you, they will ask if you perform regularly your religious duties.'
'No one loves and blesses God more fervently than I do, mademoiselle,' said the hunchback, with mild firmness; 'but certain duties are an affair of conscience, and I would rather renounce this patronage, than be compelled—'
'Not the least in the world. Only, as I told you, there are very pious persons at the head of this institution, and you must not be astonished at their questions on such a subject. Make the trial, at all events; what do you risk? If the propositions are suitable—accept them; if, on the contrary, they should appear to touch your liberty of conscience, you can always refuse—your position will not be the worse for it.'
Mother Bunch had nothing to object to this reasoning which left her at perfect freedom, and disarmed her of all suspicion. 'On these terms, mademoiselle,' said she, 'I accept your offer, and thank you with all my heart. But who will introduce me?'
'I will—to-morrow, if you please.'
'But they will perhaps desire to make some inquiries about me.'
'The venerable Mother Sainte-Perpetue, Superior of St, Mary's Convent, where the institution is established, will, I am sure, appreciate your good qualities without inquiry; but if otherwise, she will tell you, and you can easily satisfy her. It is then agreed—to-morrow.'
'Shall I call upon you here, mademoiselle?'
'No; as I told you before, they must not know that you came here on the part of M. Agricola, and a second visit might be discovered, and excite suspicion. I will come and fetch you in a coach; where do you live?'
'At No. 3, Rue Brise-Miche; as you are pleased to give yourself so much trouble, mademoiselle, you have only to ask the dyer, who acts as porter, to call down Mother Bunch.'
'Mother Bunch?' said Florine, with surprise.
'Yes, mademoiselle,' answered the sempstress, with a sad smile; 'it is the name every one gives me. And you see,' added the hunchback, unable to restrain a tear, 'it is because of my ridiculous infirmity, to which this name alludes, that I dread going out to work among strangers, because there are so many people who laugh at one, without knowing the pain they occasion. But,' continued she, drying her eyes, 'I have no choice, and must make up my mind to it.'
Florine, deeply affected, took the speaker's hand, and said to her: 'Do not fear. Misfortunes like yours must inspire compassion, not ridicule. May I not inquire for you by your real name?'
'It is Magdalen Soliveau; but I repeat, mademoiselle, that you had better ask for Mother Bunch, as I am hardly known by any other name.'
