The girl started, and smiled bitterly; Agricola did not perceive it, and thus continued: “So I said to myself, ‘There is only Mother Bunch, who can give me good advice.’ Suppose M. Hardy returns to-morrow, shall I tell him what has passed or not?”
“Wait a moment,” cried the other, suddenly interrupting Agricola, and appearing to recollect something; “when I went to St. Mary’s Convent, to ask for work of the superior, she proposed that I should be employed by the day, in a house in which I was to watch or, in other words, to act as a spy—”
“What a wretch!”
“And do you know,” said the girl, “with whom I was to begin this odious trade? Why, with a Madame de-Fremont, or de Bremont, I do not remember which, a very religious woman, whose daughter, a young married lady, received visits a great deal too frequent (according to the superior) from a certain manufacturer.”
“What do you say?” cried Agricola. “This manufacturer must be—”
“M. Hardy. I had too many reasons to remember that name, when it was pronounced by the superior. Since that day, so many other events have taken place, that I had almost forgotten the circumstance. But it is probable that this young lady is the one of whom I heard speak at the convent.”
“And what interest had the superior of the convent to set a spy upon her?” asked the smith.
“I do not know; but it is clear that the same interest still exists, since the young lady was followed, and perhaps, at this hour, is discovered and dishonored. Oh! it is dreadful!” Then, seeing Agricola start suddenly, Mother Bunch added: “What, then, is the matter?”
“Yes—why not?” said the smith, speaking to himself; “why may not all this be the work of the same hand? The superior of a convent may have a private understanding with an abbe—but, then, for what end?”
“Explain yourself, Agricola,” said the girl. “And then,—where did you get your wound? Tell me that, I conjure you.”