CHAPTER VI.
JOEL AND NEROWEG.
Marik Lebrenn had been taken by order of the Count of Plouernel into arichly furnished salon. From the walls hung a number of familyportraits.
Some wore the cuirass of knights, others the white cross and red cloakof the Templars, others the civilian dress of noblemen, still others theermine 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 courtcostumes. But, whether it was that each painter had scrupulouslyreproduced nature, or that they yielded to the requirements of a familywho held it a point of honor to make manifest an uninterrupted racialaffiliation in their line of descent, the generic type of the severalfaces was reproduced in all. Some in beauty, others in ugliness, all bythe marked distance between the eyes, together with the pronounced hookof the nose, recalled the bird of prey. Similarly, what by common accordhas been called the Bourbon type, which bears some resemblance to theovine breed, is visibly perpetuated in the house of the Capets.Similarly, also, almost all the descendants of the house of Rohan had,it is said, an erect tuft of hair that was long spoken of as the Rohancrest.
As with almost all ancient family paintings, the Plouernel coat-of-armsand the name of the original represented in the picture were designed ina corner of the canvas. For instance, there were the names of GonthramV, Sire of Plouernel; Gonthram IX, Count of Plouernel; Hildeberta, Ladyof Plouernel; Meroflede, Abbess of Meriadek in Plouernel; and so on, thenames of the descendants, men and women, of the Plouernel lineage.
As he contemplated these family portraits Marik Lebrenn experienced asingular mixture of curiosity, bitterness, and sentiments rather sadthan wrathful. He moved from one to the other of the portraits as ifthey awakened a thousand memories within him. His eyes would restmeditatively upon the motionless faces, mute as those of specters.Several of the personages seemed to draw his attention violently. One ofthem, evidently painted from indications or traditions transmittedsubsequent to the date--the year 297--that the portrait bore, must havebeen the founder of this old house. The corner of the canvas bore thename _Gonthram Neroweg_.
This personage was of colossal stature. His copper-red hair, combed backChinese 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 cheeksand 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 partlycovered by a species of plaid or mantle barred yellow and red. A moresavage and ferocious face than that of this first of the Nerowegs cannot be easily imagined.
Undoubtedly, at the sight of this portrait, cruel thoughts agitated thelinendraper. After long contemplating it Marik Lebrenn could not refrainfrom shaking his fist at him. It was an involuntary and childishgesture, that he quickly felt ashamed of.
The second portrait that likewise seemed to impress the linendraperkeenly represented a woman clad in monastic garb. The picture bore thedate of 729, and the name of Meroflede, Abbess of Meriadek in Plouernel.It seemed a singular detail, but this woman held, in one hand, anabbatial crosier, and, in the other, a naked and bloodstained sword,meant, undoubtedly, to convey the idea that the weapon did not alwaysrest inactive in its sheath. The woman was handsome, but of a haughtyand sinister beauty, a beauty that betrayed a violent temperament. Herfeatures bore the stamp of that lassitude that excesses leave in theirtrain. Her head was enveloped in long white and black veils. Her largegrey-green eyes sparkled under their thick red brows. Her blood-red lipsexpressed at once wickedness and sensuousness. Finally, the crosier andthe bloody sword in the hands of an abbess imparted to the portrait aweird, almost shocking appearance.
Lebrenn contemplated the image with disgust and horror, and muttered tohimself:
"Oh, Meroflede! Noble Abbess, consecrated by Satan! Messalina andFredegonde were immaculate virgins beside you, Marshal Retz a lamb, andhis infamous castle a sanctuary beside your damnable cloister!"
Emitting a sigh of sorrow and raising his eyes to heaven as if invokingits 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. Whenhe again raised his eyes they fell upon another portrait. That one wasdated 1237. It represented a warrior with close-clipped hair, a long redbeard, and armed cap-a-pie. From his shoulders hung the red cloak withthe white cross of the Crusaders.
"Ah!" came from the linendraper with a fresh gesture of disgust andindignation--"the _Red Monk_!"
And he passed his hand over his eyes as if to drive away the hideousvision.
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 portraitdated 1463, and bearing the name of Gonthram XII, Sire of Plouernel.
This portrait represented a young man of thirty years of age. He wasclad in black velvet and wore the gold collar of the Order of St.Michael. A more sympathetic face it would be difficult to conceive. Thelooks, and the smile that flitted over the lips of this personage, wereexpressive of touching melancholy.
"Oh!" said Lebrenn, "the sight of this one rests my mind--calmsit--consoles it. Thanks to God, he is not the only one who fell short ofthe hereditary wickedness of his stock!"
Lebrenn's meditations were interrupted by the entrance of the Count ofPlouernel.
Lebrenn was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he started at theentrance of the Count into the hall. Despite his self-control, thelinendraper, the descendant of Joel, whose family had, across the ages,so often encountered that of Neroweg in deadly feud, could not helpbetraying a certain degree of emotion at finding himself face to facewith a descendant of this ancient family. Moreover, it should be statedthat Lebrenn had been informed by Jeanike of the colonel's frequentpeering through the glass windows of his shop. Nevertheless, so far fromseeming concerned or irritated, Lebrenn assumed an air of naive andembarrassed simplicity, which the Count of Plouernel attributed to therespectful deference that he would naturally inspire in a resident ofSt. Denis Street.
The Count, accordingly, addressed the merchant in an accent ofpatronizing familiarity, pointing him to an easychair, while he lethimself down in another.
"Oh, monsieur," said Lebrenn, bowing clumsily, "indeed, you do me greathonor--"
"Come, come; no ceremonies, my dear sir," interjected the Count, and headded interrogatingly; "my dear monsieur--Lebrenn--I believe?"
"Lebrenn," answered the merchant, with a bow. "Lebrenn, at yourservice."
"Very good. I yesterday had the pleasure of seeing Madam Lebrenn, and ofmentioning to her a large order I have for linen goods for my regiment."
"Very happy, indeed, we are, monsieur, that you have honored our poorshop with your custom. I came to learn from you how many meters of linenyou want, and of what quality. I have here some samples with me," headded, affecting to be busily engaged rummaging in his coat pocketsafter the samples. "Will it please you to choose--I shall give you theprice, monsieur--the exact price--the lowest figure--"
"That's not necessary, dear Monsieur Lebrenn. I can tell you in a fewwords what I want. I have four hundred and fifty dragoons. I want asupply of four hundred and fifty shirts for them, of good quality. Ialso wish you to attend to the sewing. Your price shall be mine. Yousee, dear Monsieur Lebrenn, that I know you to be the very cream ofhonesty."
"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 theshirts?" asked the merchant, rising. "If the matter is urgent, the laborwill come somewhat higher."
"Do me the favor, first of all, to resume your seat, my
good man! Donot take your leave from me so abruptly. I may have some other ordersfor you."
"Monsieur, in obedience to your orders I shall sit down again. When willyou want the order filled?"
"Toward the end of next month."
"In that case, monsieur, the four hundred and fifty shirts, of goodquality, will cost seven francs apiece."
"Very well, upon my honor! That's cheap, my dear Monsieur Lebrenn. Thatis 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 mentionedsome other orders."
"Zounds, my good man! You do not take your eyes from the cards. Yourthoughts run to solid business."
"Eh! Eh! monsieur, one is a merchant in order to sell--"
"And are you selling much these days?"
"Hem--hem--so so, indifferently--"
"Indeed? Only so so? Well, so much the worse, my dear Monsieur Lebrenn!That must go against your grain--because I presume you have a family tomaintain?"
"You are very considerate, monsieur. I have a son."
"And are you bringing him up to be your successor?"
"That's it, monsieur! He attends the Central School of Commerce."
"How old is the fine fellow? You have only one son, my dear MonsieurLebrenn?"
"Begging your pardon for contradicting you, I also have a daughter."
"A daughter also! The dear Lebrenn! If she at all looks like her mothershe must be a charming girl--"
"Eh! Eh!--she is slender--she is comely--"
"You must be proud of her. Come, confess it!"
"Zounds! I do not deny it, monsieur. More than that I can not say."
"Strange," thought the Count of Plouernel to himself, "the fellow has acuriously old-fashioned style of expression. It must be somethingpeculiar to St. Denis Street. He puts me in mind of my old stewardRobert, who brought me up, and who spoke like the people of the previouscentury."
The Count proceeded aloud:
"Forsooth! Coming to think of it, I should pay a visit to dear MadamLebrenn."
"Monsieur, she is at your service."
"You should know that I contemplate giving a tournament soon in thelarge yard of my barracks, where my dragoons are to go through allmanner of exercises on horseback. You must promise me to come someSunday to the rehearsal with Madam Lebrenn; and I wish you to accept,without any compliments, a little collation after we leave the place."
"Oh, monsieur, that's too much honor to us--you overwhelm me--"
"Never mind that; you are joking; is it agreed?"
"May I bring my boy along?"
"Zounds! Of course!"
"And also my daughter?"
"How can you put such a question to me, my dear Monsieur Lebrenn?"
"Indeed, monsieur? You won't object if my daughter--"
"Better still! I have an idea, my dear man; an excellent idea!"
"What is it, monsieur?"
"Did you ever hear of the tourneys of olden days?"
"Tourneys, monsieur?"
"Yes, in the days of chivalry."
"I beg your pardon, monsieur; plain people like us--"
"Well, dear Monsieur Lebrenn, in the days of chivalry, tourneys wereheld, and at those tourneys several of my ancestors, whom you seethere," and he waved his hand towards the pictures, "took a hand."
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the merchant, affecting great surprise, andfollowing with his eyes in the direction pointed by the colonel, "I wasthinking to myself, there is something of a family resemblance."
"You think so?"
"I do, monsieur--I beg your pardon for the great liberty--"
"Don't begin apologizing again! For God's sake, be not so very formal atall points, my dear man! As I was saying, at those tourneys there alwayswas what was called a _Queen of Beauty_. She distributed the prizes tothe victors. Now, then, that shall be the role for your charmingdaughter. She shall be the Queen of Beauty at the tournament that I amabout to give--she will be well worthy of the distinction."
"Oh, monsieur! That is too much! Oh, it is too much! Moreover, do younot think that for a young girl--to be in that way--in plainview--vis-a-vis to messieurs your dragoons--is a little--I beg yourpardon for the great liberty--but it is a little--what shall I say?--alittle--"
"Dismiss all such scruples, my dear Monsieur Lebrenn. The noblest dameswere in olden days chosen as the Queens of Beauty at the tourney. Theyeven gave a kiss to the victor, on his mouth."
"I understand that--they were accustomed thereto--while my daughter--yousee--confound it!--she is only eighteen, and has been brought up--like abourgeois girl."
"You need not feel uneasy on that score. I never thought for a momentthat your daughter should give the victor a kiss."
"That is good, monsieur! How kind you are! And if you will also consentthat my daughter do not embrace--"
"That goes without saying, my dear monsieur. You do not need my consent.I am too happy, as it is, to have you and also your family, accept myinvitation."
"Oh, monsieur, all the honor is on our side!"
"Not at all, it is on my side!"
"Surely not! Surely not, monsieur! You are too kind! I can clearly seethat you mean to bestow great honor upon us."
"Well, have it your way, my good man! There are faces like yours--thatcharm one on the spot. Besides, I found you to be so honest a man inthe matter of the price of the shirts--"
"It is only a matter of conscience, monsieur. Only a matter ofconscience."
"That I said to myself on the spot--This Monsieur Lebrenn must be anadmirable, an honest man. I would like to be pleasant to him--even tooblige him, if I can."
"Oh, monsieur, I know not how to express to you--"
"Come, you told me a minute ago that business was poor--would you likeme to pay you in advance for my order?"
"Oh, no, no, no, monsieur; that is unnecessary."
"Do not be bashful! Be frank. The amount is large--I shall give you anorder upon my banker."
"I assure you, monsieur, that I do not need payment in advance."
"Times are so hard yet."
"Very hard, indeed, the times are; that's true, monsieur; we must hopefor better."
"Admit it, my dear Monsieur Lebrenn," said the Count, again pointing tothe pictures that ornamented the walls of the salon, "the times in whichthose redoubtable seigneurs lived, were the real good times!"
"Truly so, monsieur."
"And who knows! Perhaps those better times may come back again!"
"Indeed! Do you think so?"
"Some other day we shall talk politics--I suppose you talk politics,occasionally?"
"Monsieur, I do not indulge myself so far. You understand, a merchant--"
"Oh, my dear Monsieur Lebrenn! You are a man of the good old pattern;that's what you are; I'm glad of it! Right you are not to meddle inpolitics! It is the silly mania that spoiled everything. In those goodold times, that I was speaking about to you, nobody grumbled. The King,the clergy and the nobility ordered--and everybody obeyed without sayinga word."
"Sure! Sure! It must have been very convenient, monsieur."
"Zounds! I should say so!"
"If I understand you rightly, monsieur, the King, the priests and theseigneurs said: 'Do that!'--and it was done?"
"Just so!"
"Pay!--and people paid?"
"Exactly."
"Go!--and people went?"
"Why! Yes! Yes!"
"In short, everything as on the parade ground--to the right!--to theleft!--forward!--double quick! People did not even have the trouble towill this or that? The King, the seigneurs and the clergy took tothemselves the trouble of willing for us? And they have changed that!They have changed all that!!!"
"Fortunately we need not despair, my dear Monsieur Lebrenn."
"May the good God hear you!" said the merchant, rising and bowingrespectfully to the Count. "Monsieur, to command."
"So, then, next Sunday--at the tournament. You will
come, my goodfellow--you--your family--agreed?"
"Certainly, monsieur, certainly. My daughter will not fail to attend thefestivity--seeing she is to be the queen of--of?"
"Queen of Beauty, my dear fellow! It is not I who assign the role toher--it is Nature!"
"Oh, monsieur, if you would only allow me--"
"What?"
"To repeat in your name to my daughter the gallantries that you haveuttered about her."
"Why, my dear fellow, not only do I authorize you to do so, but Irequest you. Moreover, without further ceremony, I shall myself carry toMadam Lebrenn and her charming daughter the invitation that I extend tothem."
"Oh, monsieur--the poor women--they will feel so flattered by your goodwill towards us. I shall say nothing about myself; if I were to receivethe Cross of Honor I could not feel prouder."
"You are a first class fellow, my dear Lebrenn!"
"Your servant, monsieur, your servant with all my heart," repeated themerchant, moving away.
The moment, however, that the linendraper reached the door, he seemed tochange his mind, scratched himself behind the ear, and returned to theCount of Plouernel.
"Well, my dear fellow?" asked the Count, rather astonished at hisreturn. "What is the matter?"
"The matter is," said the merchant, continuing to scratch the back ofhis ear, "meseems a thought strikes me--I beg your pardon for the greatliberty--"
"Zounds! Speak up! Why should you not have an idea--as well as anybodyelse?"
"That's true, monsieur, it sometimes happens that the common people,like the noble folks, do not _desiderate_--ideas."
"Do not _desiderate_--what the devil does that word mean? I do notremember ever to have heard it."
"It is a good, square, old word, monsieur, which means _to lack_.Moliere often uses it."
"How, Moliere!" exclaimed the astonished Count. "Do you read Moliere, mygood fellow? Indeed, I did notice, while you were speaking, that youoften used old turns of expression."
"I shall tell you why, monsieur: When I noticed that you spoke to me inthe style that Don Juan uses to Monsieur Dimanche, or Dorante toMonsieur Jourdain--"
"What are you driving at?" put in the Count of Plouernel, more and moretaken aback, and beginning to suspect that the merchant was not quite sosimple as he seemed. "What do you mean?"
"Well," proceeded Lebrenn in his tone of bantering simplicity, "well,when I noticed that, then, in order to reciprocate the honor that youwere doing me, monsieur, I, in turn, assumed the language of MonsieurDimanche, or of Monsieur Jourdain--I beg your pardon for my greatliberty--and meseems, according to what little judgment I have,monsieur, meseems you would not greatly object to taking my daughter foryour mistress--"
"What!" cried the Count, utterly disconcerted by this brusqueapostrophe. "I do not know--I do not understand what you mean--"
"Oh, monsieur! I am but a plain man--I can only speak as my littlejudgment dictates."
"Your little judgment! It serves you very poorly. Upon my honor, you arecrazy! Your idea lacks common sense."
"Indeed? Oh, well, so much the better! I said to myself, follow closely,if you please, my plain way of reasoning--I said to myself: I am a goodbourgeois of St. Denis Street; I sell linen; I have a handsome daughter;a young seigneur--because it does seem we are returning to the days ofyoung seigneurs--has seen my daughter; he covets her; he gives me alarge order; he adds offers of service, and, under the pretext--"
"Monsieur Lebrenn--there are jokes I do not tolerate from people!"
"I agree--but follow closely my plain way of reasoning, if you please,monsieur: The young seigneur, I said to myself, proposes to give atournament in honor of my daughter's pretty eyes, and to come frequentlyto see us, all with the only end in view, by thus playing the goodPrince, to succeed in seducing my child."
"Monsieur," cried the Count, growing purple with vexation and rage, "bywhat right do you allow yourself to impute such intentions to me?"
"That's well, monsieur; I call that speaking to the point. You wouldnot, is it not true? scheme a plot that is not only so unworthy, but sosupremely ridiculous?"
"Enough, monsieur, enough!"
"Good! Good! You did not--I shall suppose you did not, and I feel betterat ease. Otherwise, you see, I would have been compelled to say to you,humbly, respectfully, as becomes poor people of my class: Pardon me, myyoung seigneur, for the great freedom that I am taking, but you see, thedaughters of the good bourgeois are not to be seduced in that way. Sinceabout fifty years ago, that sort of thing can no longer be done, not atall, absolutely not. Monsieur Duke, or Monsieur Marquis still calls thebourgeois, men and women, of St. Denis Street rather familiarly _dearMonsieur Thing_, _dear Madam Thing_, looking, with habitual raceconceit, upon the bourgeoisie as an inferior species. But, zounds! To gofurther than that would no longer be prudent! The bourgeois of St. DenisStreet are no longer afraid, as once they were, of _lettres de cachet_to the Bastille. And if Monsieur Duke, or Monsieur Marquis took it intohis head to be discourteous to them--to them or to their family--blessmy soul! the bourgeois of St. Denis Street might bestow a thoroughdrubbing--pardon me, monsieur, for this great freedom--I said, mightadminister a thorough drubbing to Monsieur Marquis or MonsieurDuke--even if he were of royal or imperial lineage."
"'Sdeath, monsieur!" ejaculated the colonel, hardly able to restrain hisanger, and turning pale with rage. "Are you making threats to me?"
"No, monsieur," calmly answered Lebrenn, dropping his tone of banter andproceeding in firm and dignified accents; "no, monsieur; it is not athreat, it is a lesson I am giving you."
"A lesson!" cried the Count of Plouernel, furious with rage. "A lesson!to me!"
"Monsieur, despite all your race prejudice, you are a man ofhonor--swear to me upon your honor that, in endeavoring to introduceyourself into my house, that in tendering your services to me, it wasnot your intention to seduce my daughter! Yes, swear to that upon yourhonor, and, admitting my mistake, I shall retract all I said."
Thrown out of countenance by the alternative offered to him, the Countof Plouernel blushed, lowered his eyes before the steady gaze of thelinendraper, and remained silent.
"Oh!" said the linendraper sorrowfully, as if musing to himself, butloud enough to be heard by the Count of Plouernel. "They areincorrigible; they have forgotten nothing, learned nothing; we still arein their estimation a vanquished, conquered, subject race!"
"Monsieur!"
"Well, monsieur! I know my ground! No longer do we live in the dayswhen, after having violated my daughter, you would have ordered mewhipped with switches, and hanged afterwards before the gate of yourcastle, as was the practice in former centuries--and as was done to oneof my own ancestors by that seigneur yonder--"
Saying this Lebrenn pointed at one of the portraits that hung from thewall, to the profound astonishment of the Count of Plouernel.
"The matter looked quite simple to you," the merchant proceeded, "thenotion of taking my daughter for your mistress. I am no longer yourslave, your serf, your vassal, your chattel; playing the good Prince,you graciously condescended to have me take a chair, and you evenaddressed me patronizingly--'Dear Monsieur Lebrenn.' There are Counts nolonger, still you carry your title and the coat-of-arms of a Count.Civil equality has been declared, and yet nothing would seem moremonstrous to you than to marry your daughter or your sister to abourgeois or a mechanic, whatever their worthiness and the honorablecharacter that they might bear. Would you dare to gainsay my words? No;you might, perhaps, cite some exception, it would be but a fresh proofthat such unions remain misalliances in your eyes. Trifles, you may say;they certainly are trifles--but what a grave symptom the attaching of somuch importance to trifles is! You and yours, were you to becomeall-powerful in the nation to-morrow, would fatedly and necessarily, ashappened under the Restoration, seek by little and little tore-establish your ancient privileges, which, from being trivial, wouldthen become hateful, disgraceful and oppressive to us, as they were forcenturies hateful, disg
raceful and oppressive to our ancestors."
So stupefied was the Count of Plouernel at the transformation of thebearing, tone and language of the linendraper that he did not interrupthim. Assuming finally an air of haughtiness he replied ironically:
"I doubt not, monsieur, that the moral of the beautiful lesson inhistory which you have had the kindness to read to me in your capacityof linendraper probably is that the priests and nobles should be sent tothe lamp-post--as was the fashion in the good old days of 1793, and ourdaughters and sisters married to the nearest valet at hand."
"Oh, monsieur," said the merchant in a tone of lofty sorrow, "let us notmention reprisals. Forget what your fathers suffered during thoseominous years--I, on my part, will forget what our ancestors suffered,at the hands of yours, and, not during a _few years_, but during FIFTEENCENTURIES OF TORMENT! Marry your daughters and sisters as it may pleaseyou, it is your right; believe in misalliances, that is your affair.These are facts that I mention; and, as a symptom, I repeat it, they aregrave; they prove that, in your estimation, there are and ever will betwo distinct races in the land."
"And supposing it is so, monsieur, what business is it of yours how welook upon things?"
"The devil! It is very much our business, monsieur. _The Holy Alliance,the divine and absolute right of Kings, the clerical party, aristocracyby birth and omnipotent in the nation_--these are the inevitableconsequences of the opinion that there are two races, a superior and aninferior one, one made to rule, the other to obey, and suffer. You askedwhat was the moral of this lesson in history? It is this, monsieur," themerchant proceeded: "Being jealous of the liberties that our fathersconquered at the price of their blood and their martyrdom;--seeing wedo not wish to be treated any longer as a conquered race; I in mycapacity of an elector vote against your party so long as it remainsupon the field of legality; but when, as happened in 1830, your partyleaves the field of legality with the end in view of reducing us back toarbitrary and clerical rule, that is to say, to the system that obtainedbefore 1789--that moment I go out into the street, and fire bullets intoyour party."
"And it returns the compliment to yours."
"Very true--my arm was broken in 1830 by a Swiss ball. But, monsieur,listen to reason: Why should there be feud, ever feud, ever bloodshed,useful blood poured out by both sides? Why ever dream of a past that isno more, and can nevermore be? You vanquished, despoiled, dominated,exploited and tortured us fifteen centuries at a stretch! Have you nothad enough? Do we contemplate oppressing you, in turn? No, no, athousand times no! Liberty has cost us too dear to conquer; we prize ittoo highly to seek to deprive others of it. It is not our fault, it isyours; since 1789 your foreign alliances, civil war instigated byyourselves, your constant attempts at counter-revolution, your intimaterelations with the clerical party--all that keeps thoughtful people inalarm and afflicts them, while it irritates and exasperates the men ofaction. I ask you again--what does it boot? Has mankind everretrograded? No, monsieur, never. You can, no one questions that, domischief; much mischief; but your divine right and your privileges aredone for. Let your party learn that lesson. You would then save thenation, and yourself, perhaps, who knows what new disasters, because, Itell you, the future belongs to democracy."
The linendraper's voice and accent were so impressive that, although notconvinced, the Count of Plouernel was touched by his words. Hisindomitable race pride struggled with his impulse to acknowledge to themerchant that he at least saw in him a generous adversary.
That moment the door was abruptly thrown open by an officer, themajor-adjutant of the Count's regiment, who, rushing in, hastily madethe military salute and said hurriedly:
"I beg your pardon, colonel, for coming in without being announced, butorders have just been issued to have the regiment mount horse forthwith,and remain ready for action on the square of the quarter."
The linendraper was about to leave the salon when the Count of Plouernelsaid to him:
"Well, monsieur, to judge by the course things are taking, together withyour republican opinions, it is quite possible that I may have the honorof meeting you to-morrow on a barricade."
"I know not what may happen, monsieur," answered the linendraper; "but Ineither fear nor desire such an encounter."
And then, with a smile, he added:
"I think, monsieur, that the order for linen may be canceled."
"I think so, too, monsieur," replied the colonel, bowing stiffly toLebrenn, who left the salon.