ertaking
is a serious one; but it shall not be said that I neglected any means to
accomplish what I promised to do."

"But father, you do not know to what danger you expose yourself," said
the smith, much alarmed.

"Talk of danger! talk of the porter's gun and the gardener's scythe!"
said Dagobert, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously. "Talk of them, and
have done with it for, after all, suppose I were to leave my carcass in
the convent, would not you remain to your mother? For twenty years, you
were accustomed to do without me. It will be all the less trying to you."

"And I, alas! am the cause of these misfortunes!" cried the poor mother.
"Ah! Gabriel had good reason to blame me."

"Mme. Frances, be comforted," whispered the sempstress, who had drawn
near to Dagobert's wife. "Agricola will not suffer his father to expose
himself thus."

After a moment's hesitation, the smith resumed, in an agitated voice: "I
know you too well, father, to think of stopping you by the fear of
death."

"Of what danger, then, do you speak?"

"Of a danger from which even you will shrink, brave as you are," said the
young man, in a voice of emotion, that forcibly struck his father.

"Agricola," said the soldier, roughly and severely, "that remark is
cowardly, you are insulting."

"Father--"

"Cowardly!" resumed the soldier, angrily; "because it is cowardice to wish
to frighten a man from his duty--insulting! because you think me capable
of being so frightened."

"Oh, M. Dagobert!" exclaimed the sewing-girl, "you do not understand
Agricola."

"I understand him too well," answered the soldier harshly.

Painfully affected by the severity of his father, but firm in his
resolution, which sprang from love and respect, Agricola resumed, whilst
his heart beat violently. "Forgive me, if I disobey you, father; but,
were you to hate me for it, I must tell you to what you expose yourself
by scaling at night the walls of a convent--"

"My son! do you dare?" cried Dagobert, his countenance inflamed with
rage-"Agricola!" exclaimed Frances, in tears. "My husband!"

"M. Dagobert, listen to Agricola!" exclaimed Mother Bunch. "It is only in
your interest that he speaks."

"Not one word more!" replied the soldier, stamping his foot with anger.

"I tell you, father," exclaimed the smith, growing fearfully pale as he
spoke, "that you risk being sent to the galleys!"

"Unhappy boy!" cried Dagobert, seizing his son by the arm; "could you n