drew his mother's arm-chair to the hearth.
'See what it is, my boy,' said Dagobert to his son; 'my head is so heavy that I cannot see clear.' Agricola took the letter, which contained only a few lines, and read it before he looked at the signature.
'At Sea, December 25th, 1831.
'I avail myself of a few minutes' communication with a ship bound
direct for Europe, to write to you, my old comrade, a few hasty
lines, which will reach you probably by way of Havre, before the
arrival of my last letters from India. You must by this time be at
Paris, with my wife and child—tell them—I am unable to say more
—the boat is departing. Only one word; I shall soon be in France.
Do not forget the 13th February; the future of my wife and child
depends upon it.
'Adieu, my friend! Believe in my eternal gratitude.
'SIMON.'
'Agricola—quick! look to your father!' cried the hunchback.
From the first words of this letter, which present circumstances made so cruelly applicable, Dagobert had become deadly pale. Emotion, fatigue, exhaustion, joined to this last blow, made him stagger.
His son hastened to him, and supported him in his arms. But soon the momentary weakness passed away, and Dagobert, drawing his hand across his brow, raised his tall figure to its full height. Then, whilst his eye sparkled, his rough countenance took an expression of determined resolution, and he exclaimed, in wild excitement: 'No, no! I will not be a traitor; I will not be a coward. The black robes shall not frighten me; and, this night, Rose and Blanche Simon shall be free!'
CHAPTER XII. THE PENAL CODE.
Startled for a moment by the dark and secret machinations of the black robes, as he called them, against the persons he most loved, Dagobert might have hesitated an instant to attempt the deliverance of Rose and Blanche; but his indecision ceased directly on the reading of Marshal Simon's letter, which came so timely to remind him of his sacred duties.
To the soldier's passing dejection had succeeded a resolution full of calm and collected energy.
'Agricola, what o'clock is it?' asked he of his son.
'Just struck nine, father.'
'You must make me, directly, an iron hook—strong enough to support my weight, and wide enough to hold on the coping of a wall. This stove will be forge and anvil; you will find a hammer in the house; and, for iron,' said the soldier, hesitating, and looking around him, 'as for iron—here is some!'
So saying, the soldier took from the hearth a strong pair of tongs, and presented them to his son, adding: 'Come, my boy! blow up the fire, blow it to a white heat, and forge me this iron!'
On these words, Frances and Agricola looked at each other with surprise; the smith remained mute and confounded, not knowing the resolution of his father, and the preparations he had already commenced with the needlewoman's aid.
'Don't you hear me, Agricola,' repeated Dagobert, still holding the pair of tongs in his hand; 'you must make me a hook directly.'
'A hook, father?—for what purpose?'
'To tie to the end of a cord that I have here. There must be a loop at one end large enough to fix it securely.'
'But this cord—this hook—for what purpose are they?'
'To scale the walls of the convent, if I cannot get in by the door.'
'What convent?' asked Frances of her son.
'How, father?' cried the latter, rising abruptly. 'You still think of that?'
'Why! what else should I think of?'
'But, father, it is impossible; you will never attempt such an enterprise.'
'What is it, my child?' asked Frances, with anxiety. 'Where is father going?'
'He is going to break into the convent where Marshal Simon's daughters are confined, and carry them off.'
'Great God! my poor husband—a sacrilege!' cried Frances, faithful to her pious traditions, and, clasping her hands together, she endeavored to rise and approach Dagobert.
The soldier, forseeing that he would have to contend with observations and prayers of all sorts, and resolved not to yield, determined to cut short all useless supplications, which would only make him lose precious time. He said, therefore, with a grave, severe, and almost solemn air, which showed the inflexibility of his determination: 'Listen to me, wife—and you also, my son—when, at my age, a man makes up his mind to do anything, he knows the reason why. And when a man has once made up his mind, neither wife nor child can alter it. I have resolved to do my duty; so spare yourselves useless words. It may be your duty to talk to me as you have done; but it is over now, and we will say no more about it. This evening I must be master in my own house.'
Timid and alarmed, Frances did not dare to utter a word, but she turned a supplicating glance towards her son.
'Father,' said the latter, 'one word more—only one.'
'Let us hear,' replied Dagobert, impatiently.
'I will not combat your resolution; but I will prove to you that you do not know to what you expose yourself.'
'I know it all,' replied the soldier, in an abrupt tone. 'The undertaking is a serious one; but it shall not be said that I neglected any means to accomplish what I promised to do.'
'But father, you do not know to what danger you expose yourself,' said the smith, much alarmed.
'Talk of danger! talk of the porter's gun and the gardener's scythe!' said Dagobert, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously. 'Talk of them, and have done with it for, after all, suppose I were to leave my carcass in the convent, would not you remain to your mother? For twenty years, you were accustomed to do without me. It will be all the less trying to you.'
'And I, alas! am the cause of these misfortunes!' cried the poor mother. 'Ah! Gabriel had good reason to blame me.'
'Mme. Frances, be comforted,' whispered the sempstress, who had drawn near to Dagobert's wife. 'Agricola will not suffer his father to expose himself thus.'
After a moment's hesitation, the smith resumed, in an agitated voice: 'I know you too well, father, to think of stopping you by the fear of death.'
'Of what danger, then, do you speak?'
'Of a danger from which even you will shrink, brave as you are,' said the young man, in a voice of emotion, that forcibly struck his father.
'Agricola,' said the soldier, roughly and severely, 'that remark is cowardly, you are insulting.'
'Father—'
'Cowardly!' resumed the soldier, angrily; 'because it is cowardice to wish to frighten a man from his duty—
