“Agricola in prison! what for?” said Sleepinbuff.
“For a trifling political offence. We had hoped to get him out on bail.”
“Certainly; for five hundred francs it could be done,” said Sleepinbuff.
“Unfortunately, we have not been able; the person upon whom we relied—”
The Bacchanal Queen interrupted the speaker by saying to her lover: “Do you hear, Jacques? Agricola in prison, for want of five hundred francs!”
“To be sure! I hear and understand all about it. No need of your winking. Poor fellow! he was the support of his mother.”
“Alas! yes, sir—and it is the more distressing, as his father has but just returned from Russia, and his mother—”
“Here,” said Sleepinbuff, interrupting, and giving Mother Bunch a purse; “take this—all the expenses here have been paid beforehand—this is what remains of my last bag. You will find here some twenty-five or thirty Napoleons, and I cannot make a better use of them than to serve a comrade in distress. Give them to Agricola’s father; he will take the necessary steps, and to-morrow Agricola will be at his forge, where I had much rather he should be than myself.”
“Jacques, give me a kiss!” said the Bacchanal Queen.
“Now, and afterwards, and again and again!” said Jacques, joyously embracing the queen.