“Speak quickly.”
“Since my mother went with Gabriel to the little country curacy he has obtained, and since my father lodges with Marshal Simon and the young ladies, I have resided, you know, with my mates, at M. Hardy’s factory, in the common dwelling-house. Now, this morning but first, I must tell you that M. Hardy, who has lately returned from a journey, is again absent for a few days on business. This morning, then, at the hour of breakfast, I remained at work a little after the last stroke of the bell; I was leaving the workshop to go to our eating-room, when I saw entering the courtyard, a lady who had just got out of a hackney-coach. I remarked that she was fair, though her veil was half down; she had a mild and pretty countenance, and her dress was that of a fashionable lady. Struck with her paleness, and her anxious, frightened air, I asked her if she wanted anything. ‘Sir,’ said she to me, in a trembling voice, and as if with a great effort, ‘do you belong to this factory?’—‘Yes, madame.’—‘M. Hardy is then in clanger?’ she exclaimed.—‘M. Hardy, madame? He has not yet returned home.’—‘What!’ she went on, ‘M. Hardy did not come hither yesterday evening? Was he not dangerously wounded by some of the machinery?’ As she said these words, the poor young lady’s lips trembled, and I saw large tears standing in her eyes. ‘Thank God, madame! all this is entirely false,’ said I, ‘for M. Hardy has not returned, and indeed is only expected by to-morrow or the day after.’—‘You are quite sure that he has not returned! quite sure that he is not hurt?’ resumed the pretty young lady, drying her eyes.—‘Quite sure, madame; if M. Hardy were in danger, I should not be so quiet in talking to you about him.’—‘Oh! thank God! thank God!’ cried the young lady. Then she expressed to me her gratitude, with so happy, so feeling an air, that I was quite touched by it. But suddenly, as if then only she felt ashamed of the step she had taken, she let down her veil, left me precipitately, went out of the court-yard, and got once more into the hackney-coach that had brought her. I said to myself: ‘This is a lady who takes great interest in M. Hardy, and has been alarmed by a false report.”’
“She loves him, doubtless,” said Mother Bunch, much moved, “and, in her anxiety, she perhaps committed an act of imprudence, in coming to inquire after him.”
“It is only too true. I saw her get into the coach with interests, for her emotion had infected me. The coach started—and what did I see a few seconds after? A cab, which the young lady could not have perceived, for it had been hidden by an angle of the wall; and, as it turned round the corner, I distinguished perfectly a man seated by the driver’s side, and making signs to him to take the same road as the hackney-coach.”
“The poor young lady was followed,” said Mother Bunch, anxiously.
“No doubt of it; so I instantly hastened after the coach, reached it, and through the blinds that were let down, I said to the young lady, whilst I kept running by the side of the coach door: ‘Take care, madame; you are followed by a cab.
“Well, Agricola! and what did she answer?”
“I heard her exclaim, ‘Great Heaven!’ with an accent of despair. The coach continued its course. The cab soon came up with me; I saw, by the side of the driver, a great, fat, ruddy man, who, having watched me running after the coach, no doubt suspected something, for he looked at me somewhat uneasily.”
“And when does M. Hardy return?” asked the hunchback.
“To-morrow, or the day after. Now, my good sister, advise me. It is evident that this young lady loves M. Hardy. She is probably married, for she looked so embarrassed when she spoke to me, and she uttered a cry of terror on learning that she was followed. What shall I do? I wished to ask advice of Father Simon, but he is so very strict in such matters—and then a love affair, at his age!—while you are so delicate and sensible, my good sister, that you will understand it all.”