“That will just do,” said the soldier, hastily, without answering. “Agricola is a smith. He will be able to find me the iron hook.”
A few moments after, Agricola entered the room; but, alas! the sempstress perceived at the first glance, in the dejected countenance of the workman, the ruin of her cherished hopes.
“Well!” said Dagobert to his son, in a tone which clearly announced the little faith he attached to the steps taken by Agricola; “well, what news?”
“Father, it is enough to drive one mad—to make one dash one’s brains out against the wall!” cried the smith in a rage.
Dagobert turned towards Mother Bunch, and said: “You see, my poor child—I was sure of it.”
“Well, father,” cried Agricola; “have you seen the Court de Montbron?”
“The Count de Montbron set out for Lorraine three days ago. That is my good news,” continued the soldier, with bitter irony; “let us have yours—I long to know all. I need to know, if, on appealing to the laws, which, as you told me, protect and defend honest people, it ever happens that the rogues get the best of it. I want to know this, and then I want an iron hook—so I count upon you for both.”
“What do you mean, father?”
“First, tell me what you have done. We have time. It is not much more than half-past eight. On leaving me, where did you go first?”
“To the commissary, who had already received your depositions.”