“Never mind, my good girl: with these indications we shall do very well,” said Dagobert. “For the rest, I have my plans.”
“Some water, my little sister,” said Agricola, “that I may cool my iron.” Then addressing his father: “Will this hook do?”
“Yes, my boy; as soon as it is cold we will fasten the cord.”
For some time, Frances Baudoin had remained upon her knees, praying with fervor. She implored Heaven to have pity on Agricola and Dagobert, who, in their ignorance, were about to commit a great crime; and she entreated that the celestial vengeance might fall upon her only, as she alone had been the cause of the fatal resolution of her son and husband.
Dagobert and Agricola finished their preparations in silence. They were both very pale, and solemnly grave. They felt all the danger of so desperate an enterprise.
The clock at Saint-Mery’s struck ten. The sound of the bell was faint, and almost drowned by the lashing of the wind and rain, which had not ceased for a moment.
“Ten o’clock!” said Dagobert, with a start. “There is not a minute to lose. Take the sack, Agricola.”
“Yes, father.”
As he went to fetch the sack, Agricola approached Mother Bunch, who was hardly able to sustain herself, and said to her in a rapid whisper: “If we are not here to-morrow, take care of my mother. Go to M. Hardy, who will perhaps have returned from his journey. Courage, my sister! embrace me. I leave poor mother to you.” The smith, deeply affected, pressed the almost fainting girl in his arms.
“Come, old Spoil-sport,” said Dagobert: “you shall be our scout.” Approaching his wife, who, just risen from the ground, was clasping her son’s head to her bosom, and covering it with tears and kisses, he said to her, with a semblance of calmness and serenity: “Come, my dear wife, be reasonable! Make us a good fire. In two or three hours we will bring home the two poor children, and a fine young lady. Kiss me! that will bring me luck.”