rt.

"Well, behold me here again at last, never more to quit you, nor good
mother!"

"No, father, we will never separate again," said Agricola, stifling a
sigh. "My mother and I will both try to make you forget all that you
have suffered."

"Suffered!" exclaimed Dagobert, "who the deuce has suffered? Look me
well in the face; and see if I have a look of suffering! Bombs and
bayonets! Since I have put my foot here, I feel myself quite a young man
again! You shall see me march soon: I bet that I tire you out! You must
rig yourself up something extra! Lord, how they will stare at us! I
wager that in beholding your black moustache and my gray one, folks will
say, behold father and son! But let us settle what we are to do with the
day. You will write to the father of Marshal Simon, informing him the
his grand-daughters have arrived, and that it is necessary that he
should hasten his return to Paris; for he has charged himself with
matters which are of great importance for them. While you are writing,
I will go down to say good-morning to my wife, and to the dear little
ones. We will then eat a morsel. Your mother will go to mass; for I
perceive that she likes to be regular at that: the good soul! no great
harm, if it amuse her! and during her absence, we will make a raid
together."

"Father," said Agricola, with embarrassment, "this morning it is out of
my power to accompany you."

"How! out of your power?" said Dagobert; "recollect this is Monday!"

"Yes, father," said Agricola, hesitatingly; "but I have promised to
attend all the morning in the workshop, to finish a job that is required
in a hurry. If I fail to do so, I shall inflict some injury upon M.
Hardy. But I'll soon be at liberty."

"That alters the case," said Dagobert, with a sigh of regret. "I thought
to make my first parade through Paris with you this morning; but it must
be deferred in favor of your work. It is sacred: since it is that which
sustains your mother. Nevertheless, it is vexatious, devilish vexatious.
And yet no--I am unjust. See how quickly one gets habituated to and
spoilt by happiness. I growl like a true grumbler, at a walk being put
off for a few hours! I do this! I who, during eighteen years, have only
hoped to see you once more, without daring to reckon very much upon
it! Oh! I am but a silly old fool! Vive l'amour et cogni--I mean--my
Agricola!" And, to console himself, the old soldier gayly slapped his
son's shoulder.

This seem