this recommendation, which bore date two years back, the seals remained untouched.'
'It is evident,' said Dagobert. 'What did you do?'
'I replaced the whole where it was before, promising myself to inform Mdlle. de Cardoville of it. But, a few minutes after, they entered my hiding-place, which had been discovered, and I did not see her again. I was only able to whisper a few words of doubtful meaning to one of her waiting-women, on the subject of what I had found, hoping thereby to arouse the attention of her mistress; and, as soon as I was able to write to you, my good sister, I begged you to go and call upon Mdlle. de Cardoville.'
'But this medal,' said Dagobert, 'is exactly like that possessed by the daughter of Marshal Simon. How can you account for that?'
'Nothing so plain, father. Mdlle. de Cardoville is their relation. I remember now, that she told me so.'
'A relation of Rose and Blanche?'
'Yes,' added Mother Bunch; 'she told that also to me just now.'
'Well, then,' resumed Dagobert, looking anxiously at his son, 'do you now understand why I must have my children this very day? Do you now understand, as their poor mother told me on her death-bed, that one day's delay might ruin all? Do you now see that I cannot be satisfied with a perhaps to-morrow, when I have come all the way from Siberia, only, that those children might be to-morrow in the Rue Saint-Francois? Do you at last perceive that I must have them this night, even if I have to set fire to the convent?'
'But, father, if you employ violence—'
'Zounds! do you know what the commissary of police answered me this morning, when I went to renew my charge against your mother's confessor? He said to me that there was no proof, and that they could do nothing.'
'But now there is proof, father, for at least we know where the young girls are. With that certainty we shall be strong. The law is more powerful than all the superiors of convents in the world.'
'And the Count de Montbron, to whom Mdlle. de Cardoville begs you to apply,' said Mother Bunch, 'is a man of influence. Tell him the reasons that make it so important for these young ladies, as well as Mdlle. de Cardoville, to be at liberty this evening and he will certainly hasten the course of justice, and to-night your children will be restored to you.'
'Sister is in the right, father. Go to the Count. Meanwhile, I will run to the commissary, and tell him that we now know where the young girls are confined. Do you go home, and wait for us, my good girl. We will meet at our own house!'
Dagobert had remained plunged in thought; suddenly, he said to Agricola: 'Be it so. I will follow your counsel. But suppose the commissary says to you: 'We cannot act before to-morrow'—suppose the Count de Montbron says to me the same thing—do not think I shall stand with my arms folded until the morning.'
'But, father—'
'It is enough,' resumed the soldier in an abrupt voice: 'I have made up my mind. Run to the commissary, my boy; wait for us at home, my good girl; I will go to the Count. Give me the ring. Now for the address!'
'The Count de Montbron, No. 7, Place Vendome,' said she; 'you come on behalf of Mdlle. de Cardoville.'
'I have a good memory,' answered the soldier. 'We will meet as soon as possible in the Rue Brise- Miche.'
'Yes, father; have good courage. You will see that the law protects and defends honest people.'
'So much the better,' said the soldier; 'because, otherwise, honest people would be obliged to protect and defend themselves. Farewell, my children! we will meet soon in the Rue Brise-Miche.'
When Dagobert, Agricola, and Mother Bunch separated, it was already dark night.
CHAPTER X. THE MEETING.
It is eight o'clock in the evening, the rain dashes against the windows of Frances Baudoin's apartment in the Rue Brise-Miche, while violent squalls of wind shake the badly dosed doors and casements. The disorder and confusion of this humble abode, usually kept with so much care and neatness, bore testimony to the serious nature of the sad events which had thus disturbed existences hitherto peaceful in their obscurity.
The paved floor was soiled with mud, and a thick layer of dust covered the furniture, once so bright and clean. Since Frances was taken away by the commissary, the bed had not been made; at night Dagobert had thrown himself upon it for a few hours in his clothes, when, worn out with fatigue, and crushed by despair, he had returned from new and vain attempts to discover Rose and Blanche's prison-house. Upon the drawers stood a bottle, a glass, and some fragments of dry bread, proving the frugality of the soldier, whose means of subsistence were reduced to the money lent by the pawnbroker upon the things pledged by Mother Bunch, after the arrest of Frances.
By the faint glimmer of a candle, placed upon the little stove, now cold as marble, for the stock of wood had long been exhausted, one might have seen the hunchback sleeping upon a chair, her head resting on her bosom, her hands concealed beneath her cotton apron, and her feet resting on the lowest rung of the chair; from time to time, she shivered in her damp, chill garments.
After that long day of fatigue and diverse emotions, the poor creature had eaten nothing. Had she even thought of it, she would have been at a loss for bread. Waiting for the return of Dagobert and Agricola, she had sunk into an agitated sleep—very different, alas! from calm and refreshing slumber. From time to time, she half opened her eyes uneasily, and looked around her. Then, again, overcome by irresistible heaviness, her head fell upon her bosom.
After some minutes of silence, only interrupted by the noise of the wind, a slow and heavy step was heard on the landing-place. The door opened, and Dagobert entered, followed by Spoil-sport.
Waking with a start, Mother Bunch raised her head hastily, sprang from her chair, and, advancing rapidly to meet Agricola's father, said to him: 'Well, M. Dagobert! have you good news? Have you—'
She could not continue, she was so struck with the gloomy expression of the soldier's features. Absorbed in his reflections, he did not at first appear to perceive the speaker, but threw himself despondingly on a chair, rested his elbows upon the table, and hid his face in his hands. After a long meditation, he rose, and said in a low voice: 'It must—yes, it must be done!'
Taking a few steps up and down the room, Dagobert looked around him, as if in search of something. At length, after about a minute's examination, he perceived near the stove, a bar of iron, perhaps two feet long, serving to lift the covers, when too hot for the fingers. Taking this in his hand, he looked at it closely, poised it to judge of its weight, and then laid it down upon the drawers with an air of satisfaction. Surprised at the long silence of Dagobert, the needlewoman followed his movements with timid and uneasy curiosity. But soon her surprise gave way to fright, when she saw the soldier take down his knapsack, place it upon a chair, open it, and draw from it a pair of pocket-pistols, the locks of which he tried with the utmost caution.
Seized with terror, the sempstress could not forbear exclaiming: 'Good gracious, M. Dagobert! what are you going to do?'
The soldier looked at her as if he only now perceived her for the first time, and said to her in a cordial, but abrupt voice: 'Good-evening, my good girl! What is the time?'
'Eight o'clock has just struck at Saint-Mery's, M. Dagobert.'
'Eight o'clock,' said the soldier, speaking to himself; 'only eight!'
Placing the pistols by the side of the iron bar, he appeared again to reflect, while he cast his eyes around him.
'M. Dagobert,' ventured the girl, 'you have not, then, good news?'
'No.'
That single word was uttered by the soldier in so sharp a tone, that, not daring to question him further, Mother Bunch sat down in silence. Spoil sport came to lean his head on the knees of the girl, and followed the movements of Dagobert with as much curiosity as herself.
After remaining for some moments pensive and silent, the soldier approached the bed, took a sheet from it, appeared to measure its length, and then said, turning towards Mother Bunch: 'The scissors!'
'But, M. Dagobert—'
'Come, my good girl! the scissors!' replied Dagobert, in a kind tone, but one that commanded obedience. The sempstress took the scissors from Frances' work-basket, and presented them to the soldier.
'Now, hold the other end of the sheet, my girl, and draw it out tight.'
