“The nuns run after me, screaming like so many magpies. I know them. At Seville I fetched out an Andalusian girl, whom they were trying to keep by force. Well, I walk about the convent calling for Rose and Blanche. They hear me, and answer. If they are shut in, I take the first piece of furniture that comes to hand, and break open the door.”
“But, M. Dagobert—the nuns—the nuns?”
“The nuns, with all their squalling, will not prevent my breaking open the door, seizing my children in my arms, and carrying them off. Should the outer door be shut, there will be a second smash—that’s all. So,” added Dagobert, disengaging himself from the grasp, “wait for me here. In ten minutes I shall be back again. Go and get a hackney-coach ready, my boy.”
More calm than Dagobert, and, above all, better informed as to the provisions of the Penal Code, Agricola was alarmed at the consequences that might attend the veteran’s strange mode of proceeding. So, throwing himself before him, he exclaimed: “One word more, I entreat you.”
“Zounds! make haste!”
“If you attempt to enter the convent by force, you will ruin all.”
“How so?”
“First of all, M. Dagobert,” said Mother Bunch, “there are men in the convent. As I came out just now, I saw the porter loading his gun, and heard the gardener talking of his sharp scythe, and the rounds he was to make at night.”
“Much I care for a porter’s gun and a gardener’s scythe!”
“Well, father; but listen to me a moment, I conjure you. Suppose you knock, and the door is opened—the porter will ask you what you want.’