Marik Lebrenn was a man of about fifty years of age, although looking rather younger. His high stature; his nervy, muscular neck, arms and shoulders; the proud and resolute carriage of his head; his open and strikingly strong countenance; his sea-blue eyes with their firm and penetrating glance; his thick, heavy and light auburn hair, slightly streaked with grey and starting rather low upon a forehead that seemed to partake of the hardness of marble;—all these features betrayed the characteristic type of the Breton race, among which the Gallic tongue and blood have pre-eminently preserved themselves unalloyed down to our own days. Upon the ruddy and thick lips of Monsieur Lebrenn sat a perpetual smile that one time betokened kindheartedness, other times bore the impress of that wit and satire, which our old books termsalty, when they describe the racy jokes, or the old Gallic character, that ever is inclined to teasing. I shall close the description of the merchant, by clothing him in a large olive overcoat and trousers of a grey material.
Astonished, almost speechless at the unexpected visit,George Duchene waited in silence for Lebrenn to speak. The latter said:
"Monsieur George, about six months ago you were assigned by your employer to attend to some repairs in my shop. I was very much pleased with your intelligence and skill."
"You proved as much to me, monsieur, by your kindness."
"You were entitled to it. I noticed that you were industrious, and anxious to learn. I was aware, besides, as all our neighbors are, of your worthy conduct towards your grandfather, who occupies these lodgings for the last fifteen years."
"Monsieur," remarked George, not a little embarrassed by these praises, "my conduct—"
"Is perfectly simple, is it not? Very well. Your job in my shop kept you three months. Very well pleased with our relations to each other, I said to you, and did so in all frankness: 'Monsieur George, we are neighbors; call and see me, either Sundays, or any other day after your work hours; I shall be pleased, very pleased.'"
"Indeed, monsieur, you said so."
"And yet, Monsieur George, you never set your foot in my house."
"I beg you, monsieur, do not attribute my reserve to either ingratitude or forgetfulness."
"What, then, should I attribute it to?"
"Monsieur—"
"Come, Monsieur George, be frank—you love my daughter."
The young man trembled from head to foot. His color left his cheeks, paleness and blushes alternated with each other. Finally he answered Lebrenn with a tremulous and moved voice:
"It is true, monsieur. I love mademoiselle, your daughter."
"So that, your work in my shop being done, you did not return to my house out of fear that your love might carry you away?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"And you never mentioned your love to anyone, even to my daughter?"
"Never, monsieur."
"I knew it. But why did you refuse to place confidence in me, Monsieur George?"
"Monsieur," answered the embarrassed young man, "I—did—not dare—"
"Why not! Perchance because I am what is called abourgeois—a rich man compared to you, who live from day to day by the wages that you earn?"
"Yes, monsieur."
After a moment's silence the merchant proceeded:
"Permit me, Monsieur George, to put a question to you. You may answer it, if you think proper."
"I listen, monsieur."
"About fifteen months ago, shortly after your discharge from the army, you expected to marry?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"A young flower girl, an orphan named Josephine Eloi?"
"Yes, monsieur; it is all so."
"Will you tell me the reason why the marriage did not take place?"
The young man colored; an expression of pain contracted his countenance; he hesitated to answer.
Lebrenn watched him attentively. Pained and surprised at George's silence, he could not withhold a bitter and severe cry:
"I see—seduction, then abandonment and oblivion. Your embarrassment proclaims it all but too loudly."
"You are mistaken, monsieur," George quickly answered. "My embarrassment and emotion are caused by cruel recollections. I shall tell you what happened. I never lie—"
"I know you do not, Monsieur George."
"Josephine dwelt in the same house with my employer. In that way I became acquainted with her. She was very pretty, and, although illiterate, highly gifted. I knew she was inured to work and poverty. I believed her wise. A bachelor's life weighed upon me. I also thought of my grandfather. A wife would have assisted me in taking better care of him. I proposed marriage to Josephine. She seemed delighted, and she herself named the date of our wedding. They lied to you, monsieur, who spoke of seduction and abandonment!"
"I believe you," said Lebrenn, cordially extending hishand to the young man. "I am happy to be able to believe you. But how did your marriage fall through?"
"A week before the day for our wedding Josephine disappeared, leaving a letter for me saying that all was broken off. I subsequently learned that, yielding to the evil advice of one of her girl friends, a lost woman, she followed her example. Having lived in misery all her life, enduring grievous privations despite her long hours, twelve and fifteen of work a day, Josephine recoiled before the life that I offered her—a life of toil and poverty like her own."
"And like so many others," interjected Lebrenn, "she succumbed to the temptations of a less toilsome life. Oh! Poverty! Poverty!"
"I have never seen Josephine again, monsieur. She is now, I am told, a coryphee in one of the public dancing halls. She dropped her old name for one that I do not know, coined according to her habit of improvising upon all manner of subjects some of the wildest of songs. In short, she is lost forever. And yet, the girl had excellent qualities of heart. You now understand, monsieur, the cause of the sad emotion that came over me when you mentioned Josephine's name a minute ago."
"Your emotion testifies in favor of your heart, Monsieur George. You have been calumniated. I doubted the truth of what I was told; I am now certain. Let us say no more upon that subject. I now wish to tell you what happened at my house three days ago. I was, in the evening, in my wife's room, together with my daughter. The girl had sat silent and meditative for a while. Suddenly, taking myhand and her mother's, she said to us: 'I have a secret to confide to you. I have long put off speaking, because I have long been reflecting, lest I speak hastily. I love Monsieur George Duchene'—"
"Great God! monsieur," cried George, clasping his hands, and seized with inexpressible ecstasy. "Is it possible! Mademoiselle, your daughter!"
"That was the language of my daughter to us," proceeded Lebrenn with deliberation. "'I am pleased, my child, at your frankness,' I answered her; 'but how came this love about?' 'First, father, through learning of George's conduct towards his grandfather; then through hearing you often praise his character, his industrious habits, and his efforts to cultivate his mind. Finally, he won his way to my heart with his gentle and refined manners, with his frankness, and his conversation, as I heard him talk with you. I never said to him a word that could make him suspect my sentiments for him. On his part, he never dropped his extreme reserve towards me. I would be happy were he to share the sentiments I entertain for him, and if you, father and mother, think such a marriage proper. If you think otherwise I shall respect your wishes, knowing that you respect my freedom. If I can not marry Monsieur George I shall remain single. You have often told me, father, that I had a will of my own. You will not doubt my resolution. If this marriage be out of the question, you will not find me either sulky or dejected. Your affection will console me. Ever happy, as in the past, I shall ever care for you, for mother and for brother. I havetold you the truth. Now, I wish you to decide. I shall wait.'"
George listened to Lebrenn with ever increasing astonishment. He could not believe his own ears. Finally he cried in broken accents:
"Monsieur, is this a dream?"
"Not in the least. My daughter never was more wide awake, I assure you. I know the openness of her nature, also her firmness. Both my wife and I are certain of that—if this union can not be effected, Velleda's affection for us will not change, but neither will she marry anyone else. Now, then, seeing it is quite natural that a young and handsome girl of eighteen should marry, and seeing, furthermore, that Velleda's choice is worthy of herself and us, my wife and I, after mature reflection, might gladly decide to accept you as our son-in-law."
Impossible to describe the look of glad surprise, of intoxication, that was stamped upon George's features at these words of the merchant's. He remained mute, he seemed stupefied.
"Come, Monsieur George," the linendraper proceeded with a smile, "what is there so very extraordinary, so incredible, in what I have been telling you? For three whole months you were at work in my shop. I already knew that, in order to insure your grandfather's existence, you turned soldier. Your rank of under-officer, besides two wounds, proves that you served with honor. During your three months with me I was able—my eyes are sufficientlykeen—to gauge your worth in point of heart, intelligence and skill at your trade. Delighted with our acquaintance, I invited you to call upon us. Your reserve in this instance is an additional proof of the delicacy of your character. On top of all that, my daughter loves you and you love her. You are twenty-seven years old, she eighteen. She is a charming being; you a handsome fellow. You are poor; I have enough for two. You are a mechanic, so was my father. What in the devil's name is there to amaze you so much? You look as if you had been treated to a fairy tale."
These kind words failed to put an end to George's stupor. He really believed himself treading on enchanted ground, as the merchant had indicated. With moist eyes and a throbbing heart the young man could barely mutter:
"Oh, monsieur! Excuse my embarrassment—I feel so dazed with joy at all I have heard—at your saying that you consent to my marrying—"
"One moment!" quickly interposed the linendraper. "One moment! Take note that, with all the good opinion I entertain for you, what I said was wemightdecide to accept you as our son-in-law. It was conditional. The conditions were these: first, that you were not guilty of the unworthy act of seduction, that you were charged with—"
"Monsieur, did I not swear to you?"
"You did. I believe you. I mention that first condition simply because I had it on my mind when I came in. As to the second—there is a second—"
"What is it, monsieur?" asked George with inexpressibleanxiety, and beginning to apprehend he had too readily indulged in an insensate hope.
"Listen to me, Monsieur George. We have talked very little politics together. During the time that you worked at my place, our conversation always turned upon the history of our forefathers. Nevertheless, I know you entertain very liberal ideas. Let us be short about it—you are a Socialist republican."
"I have heard you say, monsieur, that all opinion, sincerely held, was honorable."
"And I do not take that back. I do not blame you. But between the desire to cause one's opinion to prevail by peaceful means, and schemes to bring about its triumph by violence, by the force of arms—between the two there yawns a deep abyss. Not true, Monsieur George?"
"Yes, monsieur," answered the young man, looking at the linendraper with surprise mingled with uneasiness.
"Now, then, never is an armed demonstration attempted single-handed. Is not that also true, Monsieur George?"
"Monsieur," the young man answered with a feeling of increasing uneasiness, "I do not know—"
"Yes, you are bound to know that people ordinarily associate with others of their own opinion. In short, people affiliate insecret societies—and, on the day of battle, turn up boldly upon the street. Is that not true, Monsieur George?"
"I know, monsieur, that the revolution of 1830 was accomplished in that manner," answered George in a highstate of anxiety, while his heart felt more and more wrung with pain.
"Certainly," resumed Monsieur Lebrenn, "certainly it was done in that way, and others before it; and still others in the future will take the same course. Nevertheless, as with revolutions, insurrections do not always succeed. Seeing that people who play at that game stake their heads, you will realize, Monsieur George, that my wife and I would be rather disinclined to give our daughter to a man who did not belong to himself; who, at any moment, might take up arms, and march with the secret society that he is a member of at the risk of his life, as behooves a man of honor and conviction. It is all very lofty, very heroic, I admit. The inconvenience lies in that the Chamber of Peers, failing to appreciate that sort of heroism, may send the conspirators to Mt. St. Michel, unless it order their heads cut off. Now, then, I put the question to you as a matter of conscience, Monsieur George, would it not be a sad thing for a young woman to be exposed at any time to see her husband without a head, or consigned to imprisonment for life?"
George, grief-stricken and in consternation, had turned pale. He answered Lebrenn in a depressed voice:
"Monsieur—two words—"
"Allow me, I shall be done in a second," interposed the linendraper; and he proceeded in a grave, almost solemn voice:
"Monsieur George, I place implicit confidence in your word. I have tested you. Swear to me that you do notbelong to any secret society. I will believe you, and you shall be my son-in-law—or, rather, my own son," added Lebrenn, reaching out his hand to George, "seeing that since I became acquainted with you and learned to esteem you, I ever felt for you, I repeat it, as much interest as sympathy."
The merchant's praises, together with the cordiality of his manner, intensified the severity of the blow that smote the hopes of George. He, hitherto so determined and energetic, felt himself weakening. He covered his face in his hands, and could not restrain his tears.
Lebrenn contemplated him with commiseration. In a moved voice he addressed the young man:
"I am awaiting your oath, Monsieur George."
The young man turned his head aside to wipe away his tears. He then faced the father of his beloved and said:
"I can not, monsieur, give you the oath that you request."
"Then—your marriage to my daughter—"
"I must renounce it, monsieur," answered George painfully.
"Accordingly, Monsieur George," resumed the merchant, "you admit that you belong to a secret society?"
The young man's silence was his only reply.
"Well," said the merchant, heaving a sigh of regret, and rising; "it is all ended—fortunately my daughter is a brave girl."
"I also shall be so, monsieur."
"Monsieur George," continued the merchant, reachingout his hand to the young carpenter, "you are a man of honor. I need not demand of you secrecy concerning this interview. As you may judge, my inclinations were most favorable towards you. It is not my fault if my plans—I shall say more—my wishes, my warm wishes, to see my daughter and you united meet with an insuperable obstacle."
"Never, monsieur, shall I forget the token of esteem with which you have honored me. You act with the wisdom and discretion of a father. I can not—let it cost me what grief it may—but bow respectfully to your decision. I should, I admit it, myself have forestalled this subject with you—I should have loyally apprized you of the sacred engagement that binds me to my party. I am certain I would have made the confession to you, so soon as I had recovered from the intoxication of happiness that your words threw me into. I would have had time to consider the duties imposed upon me by that unexpected happiness—this marriage. Pardon me, monsieur," George proceeded, in a voice that trembled with anguish, "pardon me. I have no longer the right to speak of that beautiful dream. But what I shall ever remember with pride is your having said to me: 'You can be my son.'"
"It is well, Monsieur George; I expected no less from you," said Lebrenn, moving towards the door.
And, giving his hand once more to the young man, he added with emotion:
"Once more, adieu."
"Adieu, monsieur," responded George, taking the outstretchedhand of the merchant. But the latter, suddenly throwing his arms around the young artisan, pressed him to his breast, crying in a voice that shook with joy, and with eyes moist with tears:
"Well done, George! Honest man! Loyal heart! I judged you rightly!"
Puzzled at these words, and at the conduct of the linendraper, George looked at him unable to utter a word. The latter whispered to him:
"Six weeks ago—Lourcine Street."
A tremor ran over George's frame. In alarm he exclaimed:
"Mercy, monsieur!"
"Number seventeen, fourth floor, in the rear."
"Monsieur, I beg of you!"
"Did not a mechanic named Dupont introduce you blindfolded?"
"Monsieur, I can make no answer."
"Five members of a secret society received you. You took the usual pledge. And you were led out again, still blindfolded. Not so?"
"Monsieur," cried George as stupefied as he was terror-stricken at the revelation, and seeking to regain composure. "I do not understand what you are saying—"
"I was, that evening, the chairman of the committee, my brave George."
"You, monsieur!" cried the young man still hesitating to believe Lebrenn. "You!"
"Yes, I."
And seeing incredulity still depicted on George's countenance, the merchant proceeded:
"Yes, I presided. And here is the proof."
Saying which he whispered a few words in George's ear.
Unable any longer to doubt, the young man cried, looking at the merchant:
"But, monsieur—the oath that you demanded of me a while ago?"
"It was a last test."
"A test?"
"You must pardon me for it, my brave George. A father is mistrustful. Thank heaven you did not belie my expectations. You stood the test gallantly. You preferred the ruin of your dearest hopes to a lie, notwithstanding you must have felt sure that I relied upon your word with implicit confidence, whatever you may have said."
"Monsieur," replied George with a hesitation that deeply touched the merchant, "can I now—can I this time—can I hope—with certainty? I conjure you, speak! If you only knew what anguish I went through a while ago!"
"Upon my word as an honest man, my dear George, my daughter loves you. My wife and I consent to your marriage. And we look forward to it with delight because we see in it a future of happiness for our child. Is that plain?"
"Oh, monsieur!" cried George pressing with effusion the hand of the merchant, who said:
"As to the exact day of your marriage, my dear George,the events of yesterday—those that are in train to-day—the course that our secret society is to follow—"
"You, monsieur?" cried George with renewed amazement, and unable to avoid interrupting Lebrenn to express his astonishment, for a moment forgotten in his transport of joy; "You, monsieur, are, indeed, a member of our secret society? Indeed, I am dumbfounded!"
"Not bad!" exclaimed the merchant smiling. "Here we have our dear George about to start all over anew with his astonishment. And why, pray, should not I also belong to your secret society? Perchance, because, without being rich, exactly, I enjoy some comfort and have a few duds to sell? What business have I, I suppose you are thinking, with a party, the aim of which is the conquest for the proletariat of political life, through universal suffrage, and of property through the organization of labor? Why, my good George, just because Ihave, it is my duty to assist my brothers to conquer what theyhave not."
"These are generous sentiments, monsieur!" exclaimed George. "Rare, indeed, are the men who, having arrived at comfort, turn around to give a helping hand to their less fortunate brothers."
"No, George; no. That is not so rare. When, perhaps within not many hours, you will see running to arms all the members of our society, one of the chiefs of which I have been for some time, you will find among them merchants, artists, manufacturers, literary people, lawyers, men of learning, physicians, in short—bourgeois, most of whom, like myself, live in modest comfort, all of themanimated with no higher ambition than the emancipation of their brothers, the common people, and anxious to drop their guns, after the struggle, in order to return to their industrial and peaceful occupations."
"Oh, monsieur, how surprised and happy I am at what you tell me!"
"Still surprised! Poor George! And why so? Because there arebourgeois—or, to use the full, big term,republican Socialist bourgeois? Come, now, George, speaking seriously, is not the cause of the bourgeois that of the proletariat? Is there any doubt but that I, for instance, yesterday a proletarian, whom good luck has so far favored, might, through some stroke of bad luck, become again a proletarian to-morrow; and, if not I, my son? Am not I—and my case is that of all other small traders—at the mercy of the barons of high finance, of the strong iron safes, just as our forefathers were at the mercy of the barons of the strong forts? Are not the small holders as much enslaved and plundered by the Dukes of Mortgage, by the Marquises of Usury, by the Counts of Speculation? Are we, the merchants, not daily, despite all our probity, despite all our labors, despite all our economy, despite all our intelligence—are not we, despite all that, ever on the brink of ruin through any crisis that may hap to come upon us, whenever, either through the fear, the cupidity or the whim of the satraps, it pleases those autocrats of capital to stop credit and to reject our signature, however honorable the same may be? Would we, were credit, instead of being the monopoly of the few that it is to-day, democraticallyorganized by the state, as it ought to be,—would we be then exposed to ruin by the sudden withdrawal of capital, by usurious extortion, of discount, or as the consequence of a merciless competition? Are not we to-day, we old men, on the eve of finding ourselves in as precarious a position as was that of your grandfather, that brave invalid of toil, who, after thirty years of work and probity, would have died of want but for your devotion to him, my dear George? Have I, already once ruined like so many other merchants, the certainty that my son will always find the means of earning his daily bread, that he will not be forced to experience, like you, George, like all other proletarians, the trials of being laid-off—that homicidal manoeuvre which causes you to die a little every day for want of sufficient food? And my daughter—but no! I know her too well! She would sooner die! But how many young girls, brought up in comfort, and whose fathers were, like myself, modest merchants, have not been plunged into atrocious misery—and, not infrequently, from such misery hurled into the abyss of vice, like the wretched working girl whom you would have married! No, no, George! The intelligent bourgeois, and they are numerous, do not separate their cause from that of their brothers of the common people. Proletarians and bourgeois have for centuries fought side by side, heart by heart, in order to regain their freedom. Their blood has mingled in order to cement the holy union of the conquered against the conquerors! of the vanquished against the vanquishers! of the weak and the disinherited against force and privilege! How, then, should the interestsof the bourgeois and the proletarians not be common? They have ever had the same enemy to contend with. But, enough of politics, George. Let us talk of yourself and my daughter. The commotion in Paris began last evening, it is at its height this morning. Our sections have been notified to hold themselves in readiness. We expect a call to arms from one moment to another. Are you aware of that?"
"Yes, monsieur; I have been notified."
"This evening, or to-night, we shall have to descend into the street. My wife and daughter do not know this. Not that I mistrust them," added the merchant with a smile, "they are true Gallic women, worthy of our mothers, the valiant women, who, with act and voice, encouraged their fathers, brothers, sons and husbands in battle. But you know our by-laws. They impose upon us absolute silence towards outsiders. George, within three days either the throne of Louis Philippe will be overthrown, or our party will have been once more vanquished. But not discouraged. To it belongs the future. At this appeal to arms, you or I, you and I, my friend, may be laid low upon the barricade."
"Such is the chance of war, monsieur; may you be spared!"
"To inform my daughter in advance that I consent to her marriage with you, and that you love her, would be only to increase her sorrow in case you succumb in the fray."
"It would, monsieur."
"I, therefore, request you, George, to await the issue of this crisis before speaking to my daughter. Should I be killed, my wife will be apprised of my last wishes, that you marry Velleda."
"Monsieur," replied George, profoundly moved, "what I feel at this moment can not be expressed. All I can say to you is—I shall approve myself worthy of your daughter—worthy of you; I am not overcome by the magnitude of the obligation that you put me under—my heart and my life will prove equal to it, I assure you, monsieur."
"I believe you, my brave George," said the linendraper, affectionately pressing the young man's hands in his own. "One word more. Have you arms?"
"I have a carbine hidden here, and fifty cartridges that I manufactured last night."
"Should the insurrection explode this evening, a very likely occurrence, we shall barricade the street up to my house. The post is excellent. We have several stacks of arms and ample powder. I went out this morning to inspect the deposits of ammunition that it was feared the police spies had discovered. I found the rumor false. At the first commotion, return to your apartment, George. I shall communicate with you—and then, 'sdeath! Firm on the barricades! Tell me, is your grandfather discreet?"
"I answer for him, as for myself, monsieur."
"Is he there in the next room?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Very well, grant me the favor of allowing me to impart to him news that will give him joy."
Monsieur Lebrenn stepped into the room of the old man, who was still smoking his pipe "like a Pacha," as he expressed it.
"Good father," said the linendraper to him, "your grandson has so good and so generous a heart that I give him my daughter, with whom he is crazily in love. All I ask of you is to keep the secret for a few days, after which you are entitled to the expectation of soon seeing yourself promoted to the dignity of great-grandfather. George will explain the whole thing to you. Adieu, my good old man. And you George—so long!"
Leaving George alone with his grandfather, Lebrenn proceeded to the residence of the Count of Plouernel, the colonel of dragoons who was waiting for the linendraper, to consider the purchase of a large supply of linen.
Gonthram Neroweg, Count of Plouernel, occupied a cosy little house on Paradis-Poissonniere Street, built by his own grandfather. The somewhatrococoelegance of the establishment suggested it must have been constructed about the middle of the last century, and had done service as a city residence. The quarter of the Poissonnieres, or Fish-markets, as the neighborhood was called in the days of the Regency, but now almost deserted, was perfectly appropriate for those mysterious retreats that are devoted to the cult of Venus Aphrodite.
The Count of Plouernel was breakfastingtête-a-têtewith a pretty girl of about twenty years—a brunette, lively and laughterful, who had been surnamed Pradeline because of her readiness, at the suppers of which she always was the soul and often the queen also, in improvising upon all imaginable subjects, ditties that the celebrated improviser, whose name she bore with a feminine termination, would surely not have cared to father, but which had at least the redeeming feature of lacking neither in point nor in mirthfulness.
The Count of Plouernel, having heard speak of Pradeline, invited her to sup the previous night with him and some of his friends. After the supper, which was prolonged until three in the morning, the right of hospitality for the night had been earned by the girl. After the hospitality came breakfast the following morning. The two companions were, accordingly, at table in a little boudoir fitted out in Louis XV style, and contiguous to the bed chamber. A good fire blazed in the marble-tipped hearth. Thick curtains of light blue damask, covered with roses, softened the glare of the daylight. Flowers filled large porcelain vases. The atmosphere was warm and perfumed. The wines were choice, the dishes toothsome. Pradeline and the Count of Plouernel were doing honor to both.
The colonel was a man of about thirty-eight years of age—tall, and at once lithe and robust. His face, though rather haggard, on that morning, was of a species of bold beauty, and strongly betrayed his German or Frankish stock, the characteristic traits of which Tacitus and Caesar frequently described. His hair was light blonde, his moustache long and reddish, his eyes light grey, and his nose hooked like an eagle's beak.
Wrapped in a costly morning gown, the Count of Plouernel seemed no less hilarious than the young girl.
"Come, Pradeline," said he, pouring out to her a glassof generous old Burgundy wine, "to the health of your lover."
"Nonsense! Do you think I keep a lover?"
"You are right. To the health of your lovers!"
"You don't seem to be jealous, darling!"
"And you?"
At this question Pradeline nonchalantly opened her red corsage, and clinking her glass with the blade of her knife she answered the Count of Plouernel with an improvisation to the tune then in vogue ofLa Rifla:
"For ague-cheeked Sir FidelityI only have duplicity.When some gay lover pleases me,'Tis quickly done! He pleases me—La rifla-fla-fla-fla, la rifla-fla-fla-fla,La rifla-fla-fla-fla-fla-fla-fla."
"Bravo, my dear!" cried the colonel, laughing boisterously.
And joining in chorus with Pradeline, he sang, also clinking his glass with the edge of his knife:
"When some gay lover pleases me,'Tis quickly done! He pleases me.La rifla-fla-fla-fla, la rifla-fla-fla-fla,La rifla-fla-fla-fla-fla-fla-fla."
"And now, my little girl," he proceeded to say at the close of the refrain, "since you are not jealous, give mesome advice—some friendly advice. I am in love—desperately in love."
"Is it possible!"
"If she were a woman of the world I would not ask your advice, but—"
"Well! Well! Am I, perchance, not a woman? and of the world, too?"
"Of all the world, not true, my dear?"
"Naturally, seeing I'm here—which is little to your credit, my dear, and less creditable to me. But that matters not. Proceed, and don't be rude again—if you can avoid it."
"Oh! The little one gives me a lesson in politeness!"
"You want my advice; you see I can give you lessons. Proceed, what have you to say?"
"You must know I am in love with a shop-girl, that is to say, her father and mother keep a shop. You surely know the ways of such folks, their customs and habits. What means would you advise me to employ in order to succeed?"
"Make yourself beloved."
"That takes too long. When a violent fancy seizes me, I find it impossible to wait."
"Indeed! 'Tis wonderful, but, darling, you interest me greatly. Let's see. First of all is the shop-girl poor? Is she in great want? Does she seem very hungry?"
"How? Whether she is hungry? What the devil do you mean?"
"Colonel, I can not deny your personal attractions—you're handsome, you're brilliant, you're charming, you're adorable, you're delicious—"
"Irony?"
"What do you think! Would I dare to? Well, as I was saying, you're delicious! But, in order for the poor girl to appreciate you duly, she must first be dying of hunger. You have no idea how hunger—helps to find people adorable."
Whereupon Pradeline sailed in to improvise a new ditty, not, this time, in merry vein, but with marked bitterness, and keeping time with such a slow measure that her favorite tune sounded melancholic:
"You're hungry and you weep,Come, maid, and fall asleep;Come, you'll have plenty of gold,Thyself to me be sold.La rifla-fla-fla-fla, la rifla—"
"The devil take that song! This one is not at all jolly," remarked the Count of Plouernel, struck by the melancholic accents of the young girl, who, however, quickly resumed her reckless bearing and wonted cheerfulness. "I understand the allusion," he added; "but my pretty shop-girl is not hungry."
"The next thing—is she coquettish? Does she love to be prinked? Does she like jewelry, or theaters? These are famous means to blast a poor girl."
"I presume she likes all those things. But she has a father and mother, and they probably keep a close watchover her. In view of all this I had a plan—"
"You? At last you have a plan of your own! And what is it?"
"It is to make frequent and large purchases in that shop, even to loan them money at a pinch, because I know those small traders must ever be hard pushed for cash to pay their bills."
"In other words, you believe they will be ready to sell you their daughter—for cash?"
"No; but I figure that they will at least shut their eyes—I would then be able to dazzle the minx with presents, and proceed rapidly to my goal. Well, how does my plan strike you?"
"I'll be blown! How can I tell?" answered Pradeline, affecting innocence. "If things are done in your upper world in that manner, if parents sell their daughters, perhaps the thing is done in the same way among the poorer folks. Still, I don't believe it. These people are too bourgeois, they are too niggardly, you see?"
"My little girl," said the Count of Plouernel haughtily, "you are emancipating yourself prodigiously."
At this reproach the young girl broke out with a peal of laughter, which she interrupted to sing in merry notes this new improvisation:
"O! See that bold signor,So full of pride, honor?To such a haughty fleaAll bourgeois bend the knee!La rifla-fla-fla-fla, la rifla—"
After which Pradeline rose, took from the mantlepiece a cigar that she deftly lighted, and proceeded to hum her refrain between the puffs of smoke that she blew out of her cherry lips. She then stretched herself at full length upon a lounge, and drove in silence the bluish smoke of her choice Havana towards the ceiling.
Forgetting the anger with which he was seized shortly before, the Count of Plouernel could not avoid laughing at the originality displayed by the young girl, and said:
"Come, my little pet; let us talk seriously. I am not asking for songs, but for advice."
"I must first be informed of the quarter of the town in which your love is located," observed the young girl dogmatically, turning over on the lounge. "The knowledge of the quarter is very important in such matters. What may be done in one quarter, can not be done in another. Darling, there are prudish quarters, devout quarters, anddecolletéquarters."
"Profoundly reasoned, my charmer. The influence of a quarter upon the virtue of its women is considerable. Without running any risk I may tell you that my shop-girl lives on St. Denis Street."
The young girl, who, stretched out upon the lounge, had been leisurely and nonchalantly rolling the clouds of smoke from her cigar before her, started at the mention of St. Denis Street, and rose so suddenly that the Count of Plouernel looked at her in astonishment, and cried:
"What the devil has come over you?"
"What has come over me—" answered Pradeline, quicklyrecovering her composure and wonted nonchalance, "what has come over me is that your horrible cigar has burnt me—but that's no matter. You were saying, darling, that your love is located in St. Denis Street? Well, now I have something to go by; but not yet enough."
"And you shall not learn any more, my little beauty."
"The pest take this cigar!" exclaimed Pradeline, again shaking her head. "It will blister me! It will blister me surely!"
"Would you like some cold water?"
"No, it will soon be over. So, then, your love lives in St. Denis Street. You should also let me know—is the place at the head or the foot of the street? There is quite some difference between the head and the foot of a street, you must admit. The proof is, that the prices of the shops are dear at one end and cheap at the other. According as the rent runs high or low, a lover's generosity must keep step and be proportionately great or less so. You can not get over this positive fact."
"It is a very positive fact. Well, I shall confide to you that my love lives not far from the St. Denis Gate."
"I need put no further questions to render my opinion," said Pradeline with a voice that she was at great pains to modulate into comical tones. Nevertheless, a closer observer than the Count of Plouernel would have noticed a vague shadow of uneasiness flit over the otherwise gay girl.
"Well, what is your advice?"
"First of all—you should—" but, suddenly breaking off, the young girl said:
"Someone raps at the door, darling."
"You think so?"
"I am quite certain. Listen! Don't you hear?"
In fact the rapping was renewed.
"Walk in!" cried the Count.
A valet presented himself, looking disconcerted, and said to the Count anxiously:
"Monsieur Count, his Eminence—"
"My uncle!" exclaimed the Count of Plouernel, looking no less disconcerted than his valet, and hastily rising to his feet.
"Yes, Monsieur Count. Monsignor the Cardinal arrived last night in the city from his trip abroad, and—"
"A Cardinal!" cried Pradeline, interrupting the valet with boisterous peals of laughter, already oblivious of the matters that seemed to preoccupy her mind a minute before. "A Cardinal! That's a rare sight! That's a thing one does not find every day at Mabille's or at Valentino's! A Cardinal! I've never seen one. I must give myself a treat."
Whereupon she forthwith improvised to the tune of her favorite song:
"The young Queen BacchanalShe saw a Cardinal,And said: Let's have some fun,And make him dance and run—La rifla-fla-fla-fla, la rifla-fla-fla-fla,La rifla-fla-fla-fla-fla-fla-fla!"
So saying, Pradeline raised the hem of her dress and started to pirouet around the room with great grace and utterly unconstrained, all the while singing her latest improvisation, while the valet, standing motionless at the half-opened door was with difficulty keeping a serious face, and the Count of Plouernel, nettled at the freedom of the brazen minx, called to her:
"Come, my dear; that's foolish; keep still."
Cardinal Plouernel, just announced, not caring to be kept waiting in his nephew's ante-chamber, and little imagining him to be in such profane company, had followed upon the heels of the valet, and entered the room just as Pradeline, throwing out her well shaped limb, undulated her upper body as she sang:
"Oh, let us have some fun,And make him dance and run!La rifla-fla-fla-fla, la rifla—"
At the sight of the Cardinal the Count of Plouernel ran to the door, and repeatedly and effusively embracing his uncle, gently pushed him back into the salon from which he came. The valet, like the experienced menial that he was, discreetly shut the door of the boudoir upon his master, and drew the bolt.
Cardinal Plouernel was a man of sixty-five years of age, lean, lank and leathery of skin. Except for the difference in age, he was possessed of the identical type of face as his nephew. His long neck, bald head, large and crooked nose like the beak of a bird of prey, and wide-set, round and penetrating eyes, imparted to his physiognomy, if analyzed and the high grade of intelligence that they denoted left out of consideration, a singular resemblance to that of a vulture.
To sum up, the priest, if clad in his red robes of Prince of the Church, could not choose but present a fear-inspiring aspect. On a visit to his nephew, he was clad simply in a long black coat, strictly buttoned up to his throat.
"Pardon, dear uncle," said the Count, smiling. "Not being aware of your return to town, I did not expect this matitudinal call."
The Cardinal was not the man to be astonished at a colonel of dragoons keeping a mistress. He made answer in his brief manner:
"I am pressed for time. Let us talk to the point. Onmy way from abroad I made a wide tour through France. We are on the verge of a revolution."
"Indeed, uncle?" asked the colonel incredulously. "Do you really believe—"
"I believe a revolution is at hand."
"But, uncle—"
"Have you available funds about you? If not, I can help you out."
"Funds—what for?"
"To exchange into gold, or for good drafts upon London. The latter are more convenient on a voyage."
"What! A voyage, uncle? What voyage?"
"The voyage that you are to make by keeping me company. We shall depart this evening."
"Depart—this evening!"
"Would you prefer to serve the Republic?"
"The Republic!" exclaimed the Count of Plouernel. "What Republic?"
"The one that will be proclaimed in Paris, within shortly, after the downfall of Louis Philippe."
"The downfall of Louis Philippe! The Republic in France—and within shortly!"
"Yes, the French Republic—one, and indivisible—proclaimed in our interest—provided we know how to wait—"
And the Cardinal indulged in a singular smile as he inhaled a pinch of snuff.
The Count contemplated him dumbfounded. He looked as if he had just dropped down from the clouds.
"I see, my poor Gonthram, you must have been eitherblind or deaf," the Cardinal proceeded, shrugging his shoulders. "Do you see nothing in those revolutionary banquets that have succeeded one another throughout the principal cities of France during the last three months?"
"Ha! Ha! Ha! uncle," answered the Count, laughing out aloud; "do you take those bibbers of blue wine, those swallowers of veal—at twenty sous a plate—to be capable of making a revolution?"
"The simpletons—I can not blame them, so much the worse—the simpletons have turned the heads of the bigger simpletons who listened to them. There is nothing, in and of itself, so stupid as gunpowder; is there? Yet that does not prevent it from exploding. Well, these banqueters have played with gunpowder. The mine is about to explode, and it will blow up the throne of the Orleans dynasty."
"You are joking, uncle. There are fifty thousand soldiers in the city. If the mob but raise a finger it will be mowed down like grass. Everybody is so completely at ease regarding the state of Paris that, despite the seeming commotion of yesterday, the troops have not even been furnished with passwords in the barracks."
"Is that so? Well, so much the better!" put in the Cardinal, rubbing his hands. "If their government is seized with the vertigo, these Orleans will quickly vacate their seats for the Republic, and our turn will come all the sooner."
At this point his Eminence was interrupted by two raps given at the door of the salon that communicated with the boudoir. Promptly upon the raps followed the followingditty, still to the tune ofLa Rifla, and sung by Pradeline in measured rhythm on the other side of the door:
"To get out of this scrape—I sorely need my cape,On this occa-si-on,Your bene-dic-ti-on.La rifla-fla-fla-fla, la rifla!"
"Oh, uncle!" said the colonel in anger, "Pay no attention, I beg you, to the insolence of that foolish little minx."
And rising, the Count of Plouernel took from the sofa where they had lain since the previous evening the cape and hat of the brazen girl, rang the bell quickly, and, throwing the articles at the valet who answered the summons, said to him:
"Deliver these traps to the hussy, and have her leave the house instantly."
And then, returning to his Eminence, who had remained impassive, and was at the moment in the act of opening his snuff-box, he continued:
"I assure you, uncle, that I am ashamed. But droll creatures like that respect nothing."
"She has very well shaped limbs," mused the Cardinal, taking his snuff; "she is quite comely, the droll creature. Nevertheless, in the Fifteenth Century, we would have ordered her roasted alive like a little Jewess, in reward for such a joke. But patience. Oh, my friend, never—never before were our chances so favorable!"
"Our chances favorable if the Orleans dynasty is chased away and the Republic is proclaimed?"
The Cardinal again shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to explain:
"Either one thing or the other will happen—either the Republic of the bare-footed mob will be anarchy, the dictatorship, emigration, pillage, paper money, the guillotine, and war with all Europe—and then the thing will last six months at the longest, and Henry V will be brought back triumphantly by the Holy Alliance; or, on the contrary, their Republic will be benign, stupid, legal and moderate with universal suffrage for its foundation—"
"And, if so, uncle?"
"If so, it will last longer, but we shall lose nothing by waiting. Wielding our influence as large landed proprietors, and operating through the lower clergy upon the peasants, we shall become masters at the hustings, obtain the majority in the Chamber, and hamper the passage of every measure that might, I will not say cause the Republic to be loved, but even cause such a revolutionary state of things to seem tolerable. We shall sow the seeds of mistrust and fear in all minds. Soon, with its credit destroyed, with universal ruin, with disaster on all sides, a chorus of curses will rise against the infamous Republic that will then die peaceably after a trial that will for all time disgust the people with it. At that psychologic moment we shall step forward. The hungering people, the bourgeois, frightened out of their senses, will throw themselves at our feet, praying to us with clasped hands for Henry V, the savior of France. Finally, the hour for stipulating conditions will arrive. These will be ours: Royalty,at least such as it existed before 1789, that is, no more bourgeois insolent and clamorous Chamber, holding the reins of government as much as the King, seeing it decides upon appropriations and taxes—an ignominious state of things; an end of the present mongrel system—allornothing, and we wantall, to wit, an absolute King resting upon an omnipotent clergy; a strong aristocracy and a merciless army; a hundred thousand, two hundred thousand foreign troops, if needed; the Holy Alliance will lend them to us. Misery will be so frightful, fear so intense, the general lassitude such, that our conditions will be accepted as soon as imposed. Thereupon we shall take prompt and terrible measures—the only effective ones in such emergencies. Our measures will be these: First of all, provost courts; reinstitution of the laws pronouncing sacrilege andlese majestécapital crimes, and making them retroactive, back to 1830; execution to follow verdict within twenty-four hours, in order to smother in their own poison all revolutionists, all people tainted with impiousness; it will be an era of terror—another St. Bartholomew, if necessary. France will not die under the knife; on the contrary, she is suffering of plethora, she needs a bleeding from time to time.[8]The second measure will be to assign publicinstruction to the Society of Jesus—it alone is able to emasculate the human species. The third measure will be to break the sheaf of centralization; in it lay the strength of the Revolution; our effort must be, on the contrary, to isolate the provinces as much as possible from the small centers, where, unmolested, we shall hold sway through the lower clergy; or, by virtue of our large holdings, restrain, prevent, if at all possible, the intercommunication of one section of the country with another. It is not helpful to us for people to draw together and meet each other with frequency. With the view of dividing and keeping them divided, we shall assiduously rekindle the rivalries, jealousies, and where needed, the old provincial hatreds. To that end an occasional little douse of civil war will be a helpful expedient. It breeds and nurses the germs of implacable animosity."
The Cardinal stopped a moment to take another pinch of snuff, and then concluded with these words:
"People who are divided by hatred never conspire."
The merciless logic of the priest repelled the Count of Plouernel. Despite his own fatuity and caste prejudices, he rather leaned towards modern thought. No doubt he would have preferred a reign of "legitimate Kings." But he did not stop to think that he who wants the end must not object to the means, and that, in order to be lasting in the eyes of its partisans, a complete and absolute restoration could not possibly take place and maintain itself except by the frightful means that the Cardinal had just laidbare with complacent assurance. The colonel replied with a smile:
"But, uncle, think of it! In these days of ours the idea of isolating the population is chimerical. The thing is impossible! What about the strategic highways! The railroads!"
"The railroads?" echoed the Cardinal angrily. "A devil's invention, good only to cause the revolutionary fever to circulate from one end of Europe to the other! For that very reason our Holy Father wants no railroads in his states, and right he is. It is incredible that the monarchs of the Holy Alliance could have allowed themselves to yield to such diabolical innovations! They may have to pay dear therefor! What did our forefathers do, at the time of the conquest, with a view to subjugate and keep the yoke riveted to the neck of this perverse Gallic race—our vassals by birth and by kind, that has so often risen in rebellion against us? Our ancestors staked them within their separate domains, forbidding them to step outside under penalty of death. Thus chained to the glebe, thus isolated and brutified, the breed is more easily kept under control—that must be the goal we should aim at returning to."
"But I repeat—what about the railroads? You would not tear up the highways and railroads, would you, uncle?"
"Why not? Did not the Franks, our ancestors, in pursuit of an unerring policy, tear up the highways, the magnificent roads of communication that they found in Gaul, and which those pagans of Romans had constructed? Wouldit be so difficult a task to hurl against the railroads the mass of brutes whom that infernal invention threw out of their means of earning a livelihood? Anathema—anathema against those proud monuments of haughty Satan! By the blood of my race! If he is not curbed in his sacrilegious career, man will yet end—may God forefend!—by changing this valley of tears into a terrestrial paradise, wholly oblivious of the fact that original sin condemns him to perpetual suffering!"
"Zounds! Dear uncle, not so fast!" interjected the colonel. "I am not inclined to carry out my destiny with quite such scrupulous accuracy."
"You big baby!" replied the Cardinal impatiently, taking a fresh pinch of snuff. "Do you not understand that, in order that the large majority of the race of Adam suffer and be meritoriously conscious of its suffering, it is requisite that there be always in evidence a neat small number of happy people in the world?"
"Oh, I see! As a contrast; is that it, dear uncle?"
"Necessarily. The depth of the valley is not realized but for its contrast with the mountain top. But enough of philosophy. As you know, I have an accurate eye, quick and certain. The situation is such as I have described it to you. I repeat—do as I have done. Realize all your negotiable effects in gold, or in good drafts upon London. Send in your resignation this minute, and let us depart to-morrow at the very latest. Such is the blindness of those people that they apprehend nothing. You said so yourself. There is hardly any military precaution taken. You can,accordingly, without in any way wounding your military honor, quit your regiment this instant."
"Impossible, my dear uncle—that would be an act of cowardice. If the Republic is to be established, the thing will not be done without the firing of some guns. I wish to do my part—I wish to be quits. Politeness for politeness, with good round discharges of muskets! My dragoons will want nothing better than a chance to charge upon the canaille."
"Then you propose to defend the throne of the wretches of Orleans!" exclaimed the Cardinal with a loud outburst of sardonic laughter.
"Dear uncle, you know very well I did not wheel in line in support of the Orleans dynasty. No more than you, do I love them. I simply joined the army, because I have a military turn of mind. The army has but one opinion—discipline. In short, if your foresight is correct—and your trained experience inclines me to the belief that you are not mistaken—then a battle will be fought this very day. Under such circumstances I would be a despicable wretch to hand in my resignation on the eve of an encounter."
"Then you are determined to run the risk of being riddled with bullets or brained by the mob on a barricade—in the interest of the Orleans dynasty?"
"I am a soldier—I am determined to fulfil the duties of my profession."
"But, you devil of a stubborn block! Suppose you arekilled, our house would then fall from the lance to the distaff."
"I promised you I would marry at forty—"
"But until then—think of it—these street fights are disgraceful—to die in the mud of the gutters, killed by a lot of beggars!"
"Before it came to that I would have treated myself to the sport of hewing several of them down with my saber," coolly replied the colonel. "In that event it will not be difficult for you to find some sturdy Plouernel bastard of my own making—whom you will then adopt, uncle. He will perpetuate my name. Bastards often have brought good luck to great houses."
"Triple fool! To play with your life in that manner! And that at the very moment when the future smiles upon us as it never smiled before! At the moment when, after having been beaten, kicked and cuffed by the descendants of the men who for fourteen centuries were our vassals and serfs, we are about to wipe out at a single stroke these last fifty years of shame! At the moment when, instructed by experience, and aided by the course of events, we are about to resume our power and become even mightier than we were in 1789! Go to—I pity you! You are right, races degenerate!" exclaimed the intractable old man, rising. "I would despair of our cause if all our people were like you."
The valet, stepping in again after rapping at the door, said to the Count of Plouernel:
"Monsieur Count, the linendraper of St. Denis Street has arrived. He is waiting in the ante-chamber."
"Take him to the salon of the portraits."
The valet left; the colonel said to the Cardinal, whom he saw angrily picking up his hat and moving towards the door:
"For God's sake, uncle, do not go away angry, in that way—"
"I am not going away angry; I am going away ashamed."
"Come, dear uncle, you will think better of me."
"Will you, yes or no, depart with me for England?"
"Impossible, uncle."
"Then go to the devil!" was the rather uncanonical shout with which the Cardinal furiously took his leave, slamming the door behind him.
Marik Lebrenn had been taken by order of the Count of Plouernel into a richly furnished salon. From the walls hung a number of family portraits.
Some wore the cuirass of knights, others the white cross and red cloak of the Templars, others the civilian dress of noblemen, still others the ermine of a peer of France, or the purple of the Princes of the Church.
It was likewise with the women. They wore monastic garbs, and court costumes. But, whether it was that each painter had scrupulously reproduced nature, or that they yielded to the requirements of a family who held it a point of honor to make manifest an uninterrupted racial affiliation in their line of descent, the generic type of the several faces was reproduced in all. Some in beauty, others in ugliness, all by the marked distance between the eyes, together with the pronounced hook of the nose, recalled the bird of prey. Similarly, what by common accord has been called the Bourbon type, which bears some resemblance to the ovine breed, is visibly perpetuated in the house of the Capets. Similarly, also, almost all the descendants of thehouse of Rohan had, it is said, an erect tuft of hair that was long spoken of as the Rohan crest.
As with almost all ancient family paintings, the Plouernel coat-of-arms and the name of the original represented in the picture were designed in a corner of the canvas. For instance, there were the names of Gonthram V, Sire of Plouernel; Gonthram IX, Count of Plouernel; Hildeberta, Lady of Plouernel; Meroflede, Abbess of Meriadek in Plouernel; and so on, the names of the descendants, men and women, of the Plouernel lineage.
As he contemplated these family portraits Marik Lebrenn experienced a singular mixture of curiosity, bitterness, and sentiments rather sad than wrathful. He moved from one to the other of the portraits as if they awakened a thousand memories within him. His eyes would rest meditatively upon the motionless faces, mute as those of specters. Several of the personages seemed to draw his attention violently. One of them, evidently painted from indications or traditions transmitted subsequent to the date—the year 297—that the portrait bore, must have been the founder of this old house. The corner of the canvas bore the nameGonthram Neroweg.
This personage was of colossal stature. His copper-red hair, combed back Chinese style and held together on the top of his head with a gold band, fell backward over his shoulders like the plume of a helmet. His cheeks and chin were closely shaven, but a long moustache, as red as his hair, drooped down to his chest, which was tattooed in blue and was partly covered by a species of plaid or mantlebarred yellow and red. A more savage and ferocious face than that of this first of the Nerowegs can not be easily imagined.
Undoubtedly, at the sight of this portrait, cruel thoughts agitated the linendraper. After long contemplating it Marik Lebrenn could not refrain from shaking his fist at him. It was an involuntary and childish gesture, that he quickly felt ashamed of.
The second portrait that likewise seemed to impress the linendraper keenly represented a woman clad in monastic garb. The picture bore the date of 729, and the name of Meroflede, Abbess of Meriadek in Plouernel. It seemed a singular detail, but this woman held, in one hand, an abbatial crosier, and, in the other, a naked and bloodstained sword, meant, undoubtedly, to convey the idea that the weapon did not always rest inactive in its sheath. The woman was handsome, but of a haughty and sinister beauty, a beauty that betrayed a violent temperament. Her features bore the stamp of that lassitude that excesses leave in their train. Her head was enveloped in long white and black veils. Her large grey-green eyes sparkled under their thick red brows. Her blood-red lips expressed at once wickedness and sensuousness. Finally, the crosier and the bloody sword in the hands of an abbess imparted to the portrait a weird, almost shocking appearance.
Lebrenn contemplated the image with disgust and horror, and muttered to himself:
"Oh, Meroflede! Noble Abbess, consecrated by Satan! Messalina and Fredegonde were immaculate virgins besideyou, Marshal Retz a lamb, and his infamous castle a sanctuary beside your damnable cloister!"
Emitting a sigh of sorrow and raising his eyes to heaven as if invoking its mercy for the victims of Meroflede, he exclaimed:
"Poor Septimine! And you—ill-starred Broute-Saule!"
Lebrenn turned away his head in sadness, and long remained pensive. When he again raised his eyes they fell upon another portrait. That one was dated 1237. It represented a warrior with close-clipped hair, a long red beard, and armed cap-a-pie. From his shoulders hung the red cloak with the white cross of the Crusaders.
"Ah!" came from the linendraper with a fresh gesture of disgust and indignation—"theRed Monk!"
And he passed his hand over his eyes as if to drive away the hideous vision.
Soon, however, Lebrenn's face brightened up. He heaved a sigh of relief, as if pleasant thoughts had succeeded the painful ones of just before. His eyes rested delighted, almost moved with affection upon a portrait dated 1463, and bearing the name of Gonthram XII, Sire of Plouernel.
This portrait represented a young man of thirty years of age. He was clad in black velvet and wore the gold collar of the Order of St. Michael. A more sympathetic face it would be difficult to conceive. The looks, and the smile that flitted over the lips of this personage, were expressive of touching melancholy.
"Oh!" said Lebrenn, "the sight of this one rests my mind—calms it—consoles it. Thanks to God, he is not the only one who fell short of the hereditary wickedness of his stock!"
Lebrenn's meditations were interrupted by the entrance of the Count of Plouernel.
Lebrenn was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he started at the entrance of the Count into the hall. Despite his self-control, the linendraper, the descendant of Joel, whose family had, across the ages, so often encountered that of Neroweg in deadly feud, could not help betraying a certain degree of emotion at finding himself face to face with a descendant of this ancient family. Moreover, it should be stated that Lebrenn had been informed by Jeanike of the colonel's frequent peering through the glass windows of his shop. Nevertheless, so far from seeming concerned or irritated, Lebrenn assumed an air of naive and embarrassed simplicity, which the Count of Plouernel attributed to the respectful deference that he would naturally inspire in a resident of St. Denis Street.
The Count, accordingly, addressed the merchant in an accent of patronizing familiarity, pointing him to an easychair, while he let himself down in another.
"Oh, monsieur," said Lebrenn, bowing clumsily, "indeed, you do me great honor—"
"Come, come; no ceremonies, my dear sir," interjected the Count, and he added interrogatingly; "my dear monsieur—Lebrenn—I believe?"
"Lebrenn," answered the merchant, with a bow. "Lebrenn, at your service."
"Very good. I yesterday had the pleasure of seeing Madam Lebrenn, and of mentioning to her a large order I have for linen goods for my regiment."
"Very happy, indeed, we are, monsieur, that you have honored our poor shop with your custom. I came to learn from you how many meters of linen you want, and of what quality. I have here some samples with me," he added, affecting to be busily engaged rummaging in his coat pockets after the samples. "Will it please you to choose—I shall give you the price, monsieur—the exact price—the lowest figure—"
"That's not necessary, dear Monsieur Lebrenn. I can tell you in a few words what I want. I have four hundred and fifty dragoons. I want a supply of four hundred and fifty shirts for them, of good quality. I also wish you to attend to the sewing. Your price shall be mine. You see, dear Monsieur Lebrenn, that I know you to be the very cream of honesty."
"Oh, monsieur!"
"The flower of linendrapers."
"Monsieur, monsieur, you embarrass me. I do not deserve—"
"You do not deserve! Come, my dear Monsieur Lebrenn; on the contrary, you deserve that, and a good deal more."
"Monsieur, I shall hot venture to contradict you. When will you want the shirts?" asked the merchant, rising. "If the matter is urgent, the labor will come somewhat higher."
"Do me the favor, first of all, to resume your seat, mygood man! Do not take your leave from me so abruptly. I may have some other orders for you."
"Monsieur, in obedience to your orders I shall sit down again. When will you want the order filled?"
"Toward the end of next month."
"In that case, monsieur, the four hundred and fifty shirts, of good quality, will cost seven francs apiece."
"Very well, upon my honor! That's cheap, my dear Monsieur Lebrenn. That is a compliment that, I suppose, is not often heard from a purchaser, hey?"
"No, it is not at all frequent; that's true, monsieur. But you mentioned some other orders."
"Zounds, my good man! You do not take your eyes from the cards. Your thoughts run to solid business."