Again he looked around him, and Mother Bunch, more and more frightened, for she now no longer doubted Dagobert’s designs, said to him timidly: “M. Dagobert, Agricola has not yet come in. It may be some good news that makes him so late.”
“Yes,” said the soldier, bitterly, as he continued to cast round his eyes in search of something he wanted; “good news like mine! But I must have a strong iron hook.”
Still looking about, he found one of the coarse, gray sacks, that Frances was accustomed to make. He took it, opened it, and said to the work girl: “Put me the iron bar and the cord into this bag, my girl. It will be easier to carry.”
“Heavens!” cried she, obeying his directions; “you will not go without seeing Agricola, M. Dagobert? He may perhaps have some good news to tell you.”
“Be satisfied! I shall wait for my boy. I need not start before ten o’clock—so I have time.”
“Alas, M. Dagobert! have you last all hope?”
“On the contrary. I have good hope—but in myself.”
So saying, Dagobert twisted the upper end of the sack, for the purpose of closing it, and placed it on the drawers, by the side of his pistols.
“At all events, you will wait for Agricola, M. Dagobert?”
“Yes, if he arrives before ten o’clock.”