THE MEETING.
It is eight o'clock in the evening, the rain dashes against the windows of Frances Baudoin's apartment in the Rue Brise-Miche, while violent squalls of wind shake the badly dosed doors and casements.The disorder and confusion of this humble abode, usually kept with so much care and neatness, bore testimony to the serious nature of the sad events which had thus disturbed existences hitherto peaceful in their obscurity.
The paved floor was soiled with mud, and a thick layer of dust covered the furniture, once so bright and clean.Since Frances was taken away by the commissary, the bed had not been made; at night Dagobert had thrown himself upon it for a few hours in his clothes, when, worn out with fatigue, and crushed by despair, he had returned from new and vain attempts to discover Rose and Blanche's prison-house.Upon the drawers stood a bottle, a glass, and some fragments of dry bread, proving the frugality of the soldier, whose means of subsistence were reduced to the money lent by the pawnbroker upon the things pledged by Mother Bunch, after the arrest of Frances.
By the faint glimmer of a candle, placed upon the little stove, now cold as marble, for the stock of wood had long been exhausted, one might have seen the hunchback sleeping upon a chair, her head resting on her bosom, her hands concealed beneath her cotton apron, and her feet resting on the lowest rung of the chair; from time to time, she shivered in her damp, chill garments.
After that long day of fatigue and diverse emotions, the poor creature had eaten nothing.Had she even thought of it, she would have been at a loss for bread.Waiting for the return of Dagobert and Agricola, she had sunk into an agitated sleep--very different, alas! from calm and refreshing slumber.From time to time, she half opened her eyes uneasily, and looked around her.Then, again, overcome by irresistible heaviness, her head fell upon her bosom.
After some minutes of silence, only interrupted by the noise of the wind, a slow and heavy step was heard on the landing-place.The door opened, and Dagobert entered, followed by Spoil-sport.
Waking with a start, Mother Bunch raised her head hastily, sprang from her chair, and, advancing rapidly to meet Agricola's father, said to him:
"Well, M.Dagobert! have you good news? Have you--"
She could not continue, she was so struck with the gloomy expression of the soldier's features.Absorbed in his reflections, he did not at first appear to perceive the speaker, but threw himself despondingly on a chair, rested his elbows upon the table, and hid his face in his hands.
After a long meditation, he rose, and said in a low voice: "It must--yes, it must be done!"
Taking a few steps up and down the room, Dagobert looked around him, as if in search of something.At length, after about a minute's examination, he perceived near the stove, a bar of iron, perhaps two feet long, serving to lift the covers, when too hot for the fingers.Taking this in his hand, he looked at it closely, poised it to judge of its weight, and then laid it down upon the drawers with an air of satisfaction.Surprised at the long silence of Dagobert, the needlewoman followed his movements with timid and uneasy curiosity.But soon her surprise gave way to fright, when she saw the soldier take down his knapsack, place it upon a chair, open it, and draw from it a pair of pocket-pistols, the locks of which he tried with the utmost caution.
Seized with terror, the sempstress could not forbear exclaiming: "Good gracious, M.Dagobert! what are you going to do?"
The soldier looked at her as if he only now perceived her for the first time, and said to her in a cordial, but abrupt voice: "Good-evening, my good girl! What is the time?"
"Eight o'clock has just struck at Saint-Mery's, M.Dagobert."
"Eight o'clock," said the soldier, speaking to himself; "only eight!"
Placing the pistols by the side of the iron bar, he appeared again to reflect, while he cast his eyes around him.
"M.Dagobert," ventured the girl, "you have not, then, good news?"
"No."
That single word was uttered by the soldier in so sharp a tone, that, not daring to question him further, Mother Bunch sat down in silence.Spoil-
sport came to lean his head on the knees of the girl, and followed the movements of Dagobert with as much curiosity as herself.
After remaining for some moments pensive and silent, the soldier approached the bed, took a sheet from it, appeared to measure its length, and then said, turning towards Mother Bunch: "The scissors!"
"But, M.Dagobert--"
"Come, my good girl! the scissors!" replied Dagobert, in a kind tone, but one that commanded obedience.The sempstress took the scissors from Frances' work-basket, and presented them to the soldier.
"Now, hold the other end of the sheet, my girl, and draw it out tight."
In a few minutes, Dagobert had cut the sheet into four strips, which he twisted in the fashion of cords, fastening them here and there with bits of tape, so as to preserve the twist, and tying them strongly together, so as to make a rope of about twenty feet long.This, however, did not suffice him, for he said to himself: "Now I must have a hook."
Again he looked around him, and Mother Bunch, more and more frightened, for she now no longer doubted Dagobert's designs, said to him timidly:
"M.Dagobert, Agricola has not yet come in.It may be some good news that makes him so late."
"Yes," said the soldier, bitterly, as he continued to cast round his eyes in search of something he wanted; "good news like mine! But I must have a strong iron hook."
Still looking about, he found one of the coarse, gray sacks, that Frances was accustomed to make.He took it, opened it, and said to the work-
girl: "Put me the iron bar and the cord into this bag, my girl.It will be easier to carry."
?Heavens!" cried she, obeying his directions; "you will not go without seeing Agricola, M.Dagobert? He may perhaps have some good news to tell you."
"Be satisfied! I shall wait for my boy.I need not start before ten o'clock--so I have time."