"THE SWORD OF BRENNUS."
While Marik Lebrenn was holding the conversation, just reported, with
the Count of Plouernel, the merchant's wife and daughter were, as was
their custom, busy in the shop, over which hung the sign--_The Sword of
Brennus_.
While her daughter was engaged with her needle, Madam Lebrenn saw to the
books of the establishment. She was a tall woman of forty. Her face, at
once serious and kind, preserved the traces of extraordinary beauty. In
the cadence of her voice, her carriage, and her countenance there was a
certain calmness and firmness that conveyed a high opinion of her
nature. A glance at her was enough to remind one that our mothers, the
Gallic women, took part in the councils of the nation on critical
occasions, and that such was the valor of those matrons that Diodorus
Siculus expresses himself in these terms:
"The women of Gaul vie with the men not in tallness only, they also
match them by their moral strength."
And Strabo adds these significant words:
"The Gallic women are fertile and good teachers."
Mademoiselle Velleda Lebrenn sat by the side of her mother. So marked
was the girl's exceptional beauty that none could behold her without
being struck by its radiance. Her mien was at once proud, ingenuous and
thoughtful. Nothing more limpid than the blue of her eyes; nothing more
dazzling than her complexion; nothing loftier than the carriage of her
charming head, crowned with long tresses of brown hair that here and
there gleamed in gold. Tall, lithesome and strong without masculinity,
the sight and nature of the beauty explained the paternal whim that
caused the merchant to give his child the name Velleda, the name of an
illustrious heroine in the patriotic annals of the Gauls. Mademoiselle
Lebrenn could be readily imagined with her brow wreathed in oak leaves,
clad in a long white robe belted with brass, and vibrating the gold harp
of the female druids, those wonderful teachers of our forefathers who,
exalting them with the thought of the immortality of the soul, taught
them to die with so much grandeur and serenity! In Mademoiselle Lebrenn
the type was reproduced of those Gallic women, clad in black, with arms
"so wonderfully white and nervy," as Ammienus Marcellinus expresses it,
who followed their husbands to battle, with their children in their
chariots of war, encouraged the combatants with word and gesture, and
mingled among them in the hour of victory or of defeat, ever preferring
death to slavery and shame.
Those whose minds were not stored with these tragic and glorious
remembrances of the past saw in Mademoiselle Lebrenn a beautiful girl of
eighteen, coiffed in her magnificent head of brown hair, and whose
elegant shape outlined itself under a pretty high-necked robe of light
blue poplin, which set off a little orange cravat tied around her neat,
white collar.
While Madam Lebrenn was casting up her accounts and her daughter sewed,
occasionally exchanging a few words with her mother, Gildas Pakou, the
shop-boy, stood at the door. The youngster was uneasy and greatly
disturbed in mind, so very much disturbed that it never occurred to him,
as was otherwise his wont, to recite promiscuously favorite passages
from his beloved Breton songs.
The worthy fellow was preoccupied with just one thought--the strange
contrast that he found between the reality and his mother's promises,
she having informed him that St. Denis Street in general, and the house
of Monsieur Lebrenn in particular, were particularly quiet and peaceful
spots.
Gildas suddenly turned about and said to Madam Lebrenn in a high state
of alarm:
"Madam! Madam! Listen!"
"What is it, Gildas?" asked Madam Lebrenn, proceeding unperturbed to
make her entries in the large ledger.
"But, madam, it is the drum! Listen! Besides--Oh, good God!--I see some
men running!"
"What of it, Gildas," returned Madam Lebrenn; "let them run."
"Mother," put in Velleda after listening a few seconds, "it is the call
to arms. There must be some fear that the agitation that has reigned in
Paris since yesterday may spread."
"Jeanike," Madam Lebrenn called out to the maid servant, "Monsieur
Lebrenn's National Guard uniform must be got ready. He may want it on
his return home."
"Yes, madam, I shall see to it," answered Jeanike, going to the rear
room.
"Gildas," Madam Lebrenn proceeded, "can you see the St. Denis Gate from
where you are?"
"Yes, madam," answered Gildas, all in a tremble; "would you want me to
go there?"
"No; be at ease; only let me know whether there is much of a crowd
gathering at that end of the street."
"Oh! yes, madam," answered Gildas, craning his neck. "It looks like an
ant-hill. Oh, good God! Madam! Madam! Oh, my God!"
"What is it now, Gildas?"
"Oh, madam! Down there--the drums--they were about to turn the corner--"
"Well?"
"A lot of men in blouses stopped them--they have broken the drums.
Listen! Madam! Look! The whole crowd is running this way. Do you hear
them screaming, madam? Should we not close the shop?"
"It is very evident, Gildas, you are none too brave," said Mademoiselle
Lebrenn without raising her eyes from her needlework.
At that moment a man clad in a blouse and dragging with difficulty a
small handbarrow that seemed to be heavily loaded, stopped before the
door, pulled the barrow up alongside the sidewalk, stepped into the
shop, and accosted the merchant's wife:
"Monsieur Lebrenn, madam?"
"This is his place."
"I have here four bales for him."
"Linen, I suppose?" asked Madam Lebrenn.
"Well, madam, I think so," answered the messenger with a smile.
"Gildas," she resumed, addressing the good fellow, who was casting ever
more uneasy glances into the street, "help monsieur carry the bales to
the rear of the shop."
The messenger and Gildas raised the bales out of the barrow. They were
long and thick rolls, and were wrapped in coarse grey cloth.
"This must be fiercely close-packed linen," remarked Gildas as, with
great effort, he was helping the barrowman to carry in the last of the
four rolls. "This thing is as heavy as lead."
"Do you really think so, my friend?" said the man in the blouse, fixedly
looking at Gildas, who modestly lowered his eyes and blushed.
The barrowman thereupon addressed himself to Madam Lebrenn, saying:
"There, my errand is done, madam. I must, above all things, recommend to
you that the bales be kept in a dry place, and no fire near, until
Monsieur Lebrenn arrives. That linen is very--very delicate."
And the barrowman mopped the sweat from his forehead.
"You must have had work to wheel those bales here all alone," remarked
Madam Lebrenn kindly; and opening the drawer in which she kept the small
change, she took out a ten-sou piece, which she pushed over the desk to
the barrowman. "Take this for your pains."
"Thank you very much, madam," answered the man, smiling. "I have been
paid."
"A messenger _thanks very much_, and refuses a tip!" said Gildas to
himself. "A puzzling--a very puzzling house this is!"
Herself considerably surprised at the manner in which the barrowman
formulated his declination, Madam Lebrenn raised her eyes and saw a man
of about thirty years, of an agreeable face, and who, an exceptional
thing with package carriers, had remarkably white hands, carefully
trimmed nails, and a neat gold ring on his little finger.
"Could you tell me, monsieur," asked the merchant's wife, "whether the
excitement in Paris is on the increase?"
"Very much so, madam. One can hardly move on the boulevard. Troops are
pouring in from all sides. Artillerymen are posted in front of the
Gymnasium with their fuses lighted. I came across two squadrons of
dragoons on patrol duty, with loaded carbines. Everywhere the roll of
the drum is calling to arms--although, I must say, the National Guard
does not seem to be in any great hurry. But you must excuse me, madam,"
added the barrowman, bowing politely to Madam Lebrenn and her daughter.
"It will be soon four o'clock. I am in a hurry."
He went out, took his handbarrow and wheeled it rapidly away.
On hearing of artillerymen stationed in the neighborhood with lighted
fuses in hand, Gildas was overwhelmed with a fresh flood of misgivings.
Nevertheless, rocked between fear and curiosity, he risked another peep
into the fearful St. Denis Street, which lay so near to the artillery
station.
At the moment that Gildas stretched his neck outside of the shop again,
the young girl who had taken breakfast with the Count of Plouernel that
very morning, and who improvised such giddy-headed ditties, emerged from
the alley of the house where George Duchene lodged, and which, as was
stated before, stood opposite the linendraper's shop.
Pradeline looked sad and uneasy. After taking a few steps on the
sidewalk, she approached the shop of Lebrenn as near as she dared, in
order to cast an inquisitive look within. Unfortunately, the shade over
the window intercepted the sight. True enough, the door was ajar. But
Gildas, who stood before it, entirely obstructed the passage.
Nevertheless, Pradeline, believing herself unobserved, persevered in her
efforts to obtain a look at the interior of the place. For some time
Gildas watched with increasing curiosity the suspicious manoeuvres of
the young girl. Appearances deceived him; he took himself to be the
object of Pradeline's obstinate glances. The prudish youngster lowered
his eyes and blushed till his ears tingled. His alarmed modesty ordered
him to go into the shop in order to prove to the brazen girl how little
he cared for her blandishments. Nevertheless certain promptings of
self-esteem held him nailed to the threshold, and more than ever he
muttered to himself:
"A puzzling town this is, where, not far from the artillery where fuses
are held lighted, young girls come to devour shop-boys with their eyes!"
He noticed that Pradeline crossed the street once more and stepped into
a neighboring cafe.
"The unfortunate girl! She surely means to drown her disappointment in
several glasses of wine. If she does she will be capable of coming out
again and pursuing me straight into the shop. Good God! What would Madam
Lebrenn and mademoiselle think of that!"
A new incident cut short, for a while, the chaste apprehensions of
Gildas. A four-wheeled truck, drawn by a strong horse, and containing
three large, flat chests about two meters high and inscribed _Glass_,
drew up before the shop. The vehicle was in charge of two men in
blouses. One of these, named Dupont, was the same who had been to the
shop early that morning in order to recommend to Monsieur Lebrenn not to
inspect his supply of grain. The other wore a thick grey beard. They
alighted from their seat, and Dupont, the driver, stepping into the
shop, greeted Madam Lebrenn and said:
"Has Monsieur Lebrenn not yet returned, madam?"
"No, monsieur."
"We have brought him three cases of looking glasses."
"Very well, monsieur," answered Madam Lebrenn. And calling Gildas, she
added:
"Help these gentlemen to bring in the looking glasses."
The shop-assistant obeyed, saying to himself:
"A puzzling house! Three chests with looking glasses--and so heavy!
Master, his wife and daughter must be very fond of looking at
themselves!"
Dupont and his grey-bearded companion had helped Gildas to place the
chests in the room behind the shop, as directed by Madam Lebrenn, when
she said to them:
"What is the news, messieurs? Is the agitation in Paris subsiding?"
"On the contrary, madam, 'tis getting hotter--and still hotter,"
answered Dupont with barely concealed satisfaction. "They have commenced
to throw up barricades in the St. Antoine quarter. To-night the
preparations--to-morrow, battle."
Hardly had Dupont uttered these words, when a formidable clamor was
heard from the distance, the words "_Long live the Reform!_" being
distinctly audible.
Gildas ran to the door.
"Let's hurry," said Dupont to his companion. "Our truck may be taken for
the center of a barricade; it would be premature--we have still several
errands to attend to;" and bowing to Madam Lebrenn, he added, "Our
regards to your husband, madam."
The two men leaped upon the seat of their truck, gave their horse the
whip, and drove away in the direction opposite to that whence the clamor
proceeded.
Gildas had closely followed with his eyes and with renewed uneasiness
the new concourse of people near the St. Denis Gate. Suddenly he saw
Pradeline emerge from the cafe which she had entered a few minutes
before, and direct her steps towards the shop, holding a letter in her
hand.
"What a persistent minx! She has been writing to me!" thought Gildas.
"The wretched woman is bringing me the letter herself! A declaration! I
am going to be disgraced in the eyes of my employers!"
The bewildered Gildas stepped in quickly, closed the door, turned the
key, and cuddled up quiet as a mouse close to the desk.
"Well," said Madam Lebrenn, "why do you lock the door, Gildas?"
"Madam, it is more prudent. I saw coming up from down below a band of
men--whose frightful faces--"
"Go to, Gildas, you are losing your head! Open the door."
"But madam--"
"Do as I tell you. Listen, there is someone trying to come in. Open the
door."
"It is that devil of a girl with her letter," thought Gildas to himself,
more dead than alive. "Oh, why did I leave my quiet little village of
Auray!"
And he opened the door with his heart thumping against his ribs.
Instead, however, of seeing before him the young girl with her letter,
he stood face to face with Monsieur Lebrenn and his son.