ndred times a day?"

"Insulted me!"

"Yes--when I gave you an odious and ridiculous nickname, instead of
calling you properly."

At these words, Mother Bunch looked at the smith in the utmost alarm,
trembling lest he had discovered her painful secret, notwithstanding the
assurance she had received from Mdlle. de Cardoville. Yet she calmed
herself a little when she reflected, that Agricola might of himself have
thought of the humiliation inflicted on her by calling her Mother Bunch,
and she answered him with a forced smile. "Can you be grieved at so small
a thing? It was a habit, Agricola, from childhood. When did your good and
affectionate mother, who nevertheless loved me as her daughter, ever call
me anything else?"

"And did my mother consult you about my marriage, speak to you of the
rare beauty of my bride, beg you to come and see her, and study her
character, in the hope that the instinct of your affection for me would
warn you--if I made a bad choice? Did my mother have this cruelty?--No;
it was I, who thus pierced your heart!"

The fears of the hearer were again aroused; there could be but little
doubt that Agricola knew her secret. She felt herself sinking with
confusion; yet, making a last effort not to believe the discovery, she
murmured in a feeble voice: "True, Agricola! It was not your mother, but
yourself, who made me that request--and I was grateful to you for such a
mark of confidence."

"Grateful, my poor girl!" cried the smith, whilst his eyes filled with
tears; "no, it is not true. I pained you fearfully--I was
merciless--heaven knows, without being aware of it!"

"But," said the other, in a voice now almost unintelligible, "what makes
you think so?"

"Your love for me!" cried the smith, trembling with emotion, as he
clasped Mother Bunch in a brotherly embrace.

"Oh heaven!" murmured the unfortunate creature, as she covered her face
with her hands, "he knows all."

"Yes, I know all," resumed Agricola, with an expression of ineffable
tenderness and respect: "yes, I know all, and I will not have you blush
for a sentiment, which honors me, and of which I feel so justly proud.
Yes, I know all; and I say to myself with joy and pride, that the best,
the most noble heart in the world is mine--will be mine always. Come,
Magdalen; let us leave shame to evil passions. Raise your eyes, and look
at me! You know, if my countenance was ever false--if it ever reflected a
feigned emotion. Then look and