"I know it, Agricola, I know it," said the hunchback, stretching out her white and slender hand to the smith, who grasped it cordially, and thus continued: "When I say everything, I am not quite exact--for I have always concealed from you my little love-affairs--because, though we may tell almost anything to a sister, there are subjects of which we ought not to speak to a good and virtuous girl, such as you are."
"I thank you, Agricola.I had remarked this reserve on your part,"
observed the other, casting down her eyes, and heroically repressing the grief she felt; "I thank you."
"But for the very reason, that I made it a duty never to speak to you of such love affairs, I said to myself, if ever it should happen that I have a serious passion--such a love as makes one think of marriage--oh! then, just as we tell our sister even before our father and mother, my good sister shall be the first to be informed of it."
"You are very kind, Agricola."
"Well then! the serious passion has come at last.I am over head and ears in love, and I think of marriage."
At these words of Agricola, poor Mother Bunch felt herself for an instant paralyzed.It seemed as if all her blood was suddenly frozen in her veins.For some seconds, she thought she was going to die.Her heart ceased to beat; she felt it, not breaking, but melting away to nothing.
Then, the first blasting emotion over, like those martyrs who found, in the very excitement of pain, the terrible power to smile in the midst of tortures, the unfortunate girl found, in the fear of betraying the secret of her fatal and ridiculous love, almost incredible energy.She raised her head, looked at the smith calmly, almost serenely, and said to him in a firm voice: "Ah! so, you truly love?"
"That is to say, my good sister, that, for the last four days, I scarcely live at all--or live only upon this passion."
"It is only since four days that you have been in love?"
"Not more--but time has nothing to do with it."
"And is she very pretty?"
"Dark hair--the figure of a nymph--fair as a lily--blue eyes, as large as that--and as mild, as good as your own."
"You flatter me, Agricola."
"No, no, it is Angela that I flatter--for that's her name.What a pretty one! Is it not, my good Mother Bunch?"
"A charming name," said the poor girl, contrasting bitterly that graceful appellation with her own nickname, which the thoughtless Agricola applied to her without thinking of it.Then she resumed, with fearful calmness:
"Angela? yes, it is a charming name!"
"Well, then! imagine to yourself, that this name is not only suited to her face, but to her heart.In a word, I believe her heart to be almost equal to yours."
"She has my eyes--she has my heart," said Mother Bunch, smiling."It is singular, how like we are."
Agricola did not perceive the irony of despair contained in these words.
He resumed, with a tenderness as sincere as it was inexorable: "Do you think, my good girl, that I could ever have fallen seriously in love with any one, who had not in character, heart, and mind, much of you?"
"Come, brother," said the girl, smiling--yes, the unfortunate creature had the strength to smile; "come, brother, you are in a gallant vein to-
day.Where did you make the acquaintance of this beautiful young person?"