“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—insulting! because you think me capable of being so frightened.”
“Oh, M. Dagobert!” exclaimed the sewing-girl, “you do not understand Agricola.”
“I understand him too well,” answered the soldier harshly.
Painfully affected by the severity of his father, but firm in his resolution, which sprang from love and respect, Agricola resumed, whilst his heart beat violently. “Forgive me, if I disobey you, father; but, were you to hate me for it, I must tell you to what you expose yourself by scaling at night the walls of a convent—”
“My son! do you dare?” cried Dagobert, his countenance inflamed with rage-“Agricola!” exclaimed Frances, in tears. “My husband!”
“M. Dagobert, listen to Agricola!” exclaimed Mother Bunch. “It is only in your interest that he speaks.”
“Not one word more!” replied the soldier, stamping his foot with anger.