"That's true, monsieur, it sometimes happens that the common people, like the n.o.ble folks, do not _desiderate_--ideas."

"Do not _desiderate_--what the devil does that word mean? I do not remember 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, my good fellow? Indeed, I did notice, while you were speaking, that you often used old turns of expression."

"I shall tell you why, monsieur: When I noticed that you spoke to me in the style that Don Juan uses to Monsieur Dimanche, or Dorante to Monsieur Jourdain--"

"What are you driving at?" put in the Count of Plouernel, more and more taken aback, and beginning to suspect that the merchant was not quite so simple 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 you were doing me, monsieur, I, in turn, a.s.sumed the language of Monsieur Dimanche, or of Monsieur Jourdain--I beg your pardon for my great liberty--and meseems, according to what little judgment I have, monsieur, meseems you would not greatly object to taking my daughter for your mistress--"

"What!" cried the Count, utterly disconcerted by this brusque apostrophe. "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 little judgment dictates."

"Your little judgment! It serves you very poorly. Upon my honor, you are crazy! 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 good bourgeois 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 of young seigneurs--has seen my daughter; he covets her; he gives me a large 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 a tournament in honor of my daughter's pretty eyes, and to come frequently to see us, all with the only end in view, by thus playing the good Prince, to succeed in seducing my child."

"Monsieur," cried the Count, growing purple with vexation and rage, "by what right do you allow yourself to impute such intentions to me?"

"That's well, monsieur; I call that speaking to the point. You would not, is it not true? scheme a plot that is not only so unworthy, but so supremely ridiculous?"

"Enough, monsieur, enough!"

"Good! Good! You did not--I shall suppose you did not, and I feel better at ease. Otherwise, you see, I would have been compelled to say to you, humbly, respectfully, as becomes poor people of my cla.s.s: Pardon me, my young seigneur, for the great freedom that I am taking, but you see, the daughters of the good bourgeois are not to be seduced in that way. Since about fifty years ago, that sort of thing can no longer be done, not at all, absolutely not. Monsieur Duke, or Monsieur Marquis still calls the bourgeois, men and women, of St. Denis Street rather familiarly _dear Monsieur Thing_, _dear Madam Thing_, looking, with habitual race conceit, upon the bourgeoisie as an inferior species. But, zounds! To go further than that would no longer be prudent! The bourgeois of St. Denis Street are no longer afraid, as once they were, of _lettres de cachet_ to the Bastille. And if Monsieur Duke, or Monsieur Marquis took it into his head to be discourteous to them--to them or to their family--bless my soul! the bourgeois of St. Denis Street might bestow a thorough drubbing--pardon me, monsieur, for this great freedom--I said, might administer a thorough drubbing to Monsieur Marquis or Monsieur Duke--even if he were of royal or imperial lineage."

"'Sdeath, monsieur!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the colonel, hardly able to restrain his anger, and turning pale with rage. "Are you making threats to me?"

"No, monsieur," calmly answered Lebrenn, dropping his tone of banter and proceeding in firm and dignified accents; "no, monsieur; it is not a threat, 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 of honor--swear to me upon your honor that, in endeavoring to introduce yourself into my house, that in tendering your services to me, it was not your intention to seduce my daughter! Yes, swear to that upon your honor, and, admitting my mistake, I shall retract all I said."

Thrown out of countenance by the alternative offered to him, the Count of Plouernel blushed, lowered his eyes before the steady gaze of the linendraper, and remained silent.

"Oh!" said the linendraper sorrowfully, as if musing to himself, but loud enough to be heard by the Count of Plouernel. "They are incorrigible; they have forgotten nothing, learned nothing; we still are in their estimation a vanquished, conquered, subject race!"

"Monsieur!"

"Well, monsieur! I know my ground! No longer do we live in the days when, after having violated my daughter, you would have ordered me whipped with switches, and hanged afterwards before the gate of your castle, as was the practice in former centuries--and as was done to one of my own ancestors by that seigneur yonder--"

Saying this Lebrenn pointed at one of the portraits that hung from the wall, to the profound astonishment of the Count of Plouernel.

"The matter looked quite simple to you," the merchant proceeded, "the notion of taking my daughter for your mistress. I am no longer your slave, your serf, your va.s.sal, your chattel; playing the good Prince, you graciously condescended to have me take a chair, and you even addressed me patronizingly--'Dear Monsieur Lebrenn.' There are Counts no longer, still you carry your t.i.tle and the coat-of-arms of a Count.

Civil equality has been declared, and yet nothing would seem more monstrous to you than to marry your daughter or your sister to a bourgeois or a mechanic, whatever their worthiness and the honorable character that they might bear. Would you dare to gainsay my words? No; you might, perhaps, cite some exception, it would be but a fresh proof that such unions remain misalliances in your eyes. Trifles, you may say; they certainly are trifles--but what a grave symptom the attaching of so much importance to trifles is! You and yours, were you to become all-powerful in the nation to-morrow, would fatedly and necessarily, as happened under the Restoration, seek by little and little to re-establish your ancient privileges, which, from being trivial, would then become hateful, disgraceful and oppressive to us, as they were for centuries hateful, disgraceful and oppressive to our ancestors."

So stupefied was the Count of Plouernel at the transformation of the bearing, tone and language of the linendraper that he did not interrupt him. a.s.suming finally an air of haughtiness he replied ironically:

"I doubt not, monsieur, that the moral of the beautiful lesson in history which you have had the kindness to read to me in your capacity of linendraper probably is that the priests and n.o.bles should be sent to the lamp-post--as was the fashion in the good old days of 1793, and our daughters and sisters married to the nearest valet at hand."

"Oh, monsieur," said the merchant in a tone of lofty sorrow, "let us not mention reprisals. Forget what your fathers suffered during those ominous years--I, on my part, will forget what our ancestors suffered, at the hands of yours, and, not during a _few years_, but during FIFTEEN CENTURIES OF TORMENT! Marry your daughters and sisters as it may please you, 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 are grave; they prove that, in your estimation, there are and ever will be two distinct races in the land."

"And supposing it is so, monsieur, what business is it of yours how we look upon things?"

"The devil! It is very much our business, monsieur. _The Holy Alliance, the divine and absolute right of Kings, the clerical party, aristocracy by birth and omnipotent in the nation_--these are the inevitable consequences of the opinion that there are two races, a superior and an inferior one, one made to rule, the other to obey, and suffer. You asked what was the moral of this lesson in history? It is this, monsieur," the merchant proceeded: "Being jealous of the liberties that our fathers conquered at the price of their blood and their martyrdom;--seeing we do not wish to be treated any longer as a conquered race; I in my capacity of an elector vote against your party so long as it remains upon the field of legality; but when, as happened in 1830, your party leaves the field of legality with the end in view of reducing us back to arbitrary and clerical rule, that is to say, to the system that obtained before 1789--that moment I go out into the street, and fire bullets into your 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 is no more, and can nevermore be? You vanquished, despoiled, dominated, exploited and tortured us fifteen centuries at a stretch! Have you not had enough? Do we contemplate oppressing you, in turn? No, no, a thousand times no! Liberty has cost us too dear to conquer; we prize it too highly to seek to deprive others of it. It is not our fault, it is yours; since 1789 your foreign alliances, civil war instigated by yourselves, your constant attempts at counter-revolution, your intimate relations with the clerical party--all that keeps thoughtful people in alarm and afflicts them, while it irritates and exasperates the men of action. I ask you again--what does it boot? Has mankind ever retrograded? No, monsieur, never. You can, no one questions that, do mischief; much mischief; but your divine right and your privileges are done for. Let your party learn that lesson. You would then save the nation, and yourself, perhaps, who knows what new disasters, because, I tell you, the future belongs to democracy."

The linendraper's voice and accent were so impressive that, although not convinced, the Count of Plouernel was touched by his words. His indomitable race pride struggled with his impulse to acknowledge to the merchant that he at least saw in him a generous adversary.

That moment the door was abruptly thrown open by an officer, the major-adjutant of the Count's regiment, who, rushing in, hastily made the military salute and said hurriedly:

"I beg your pardon, colonel, for coming in without being announced, but orders 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 Plouernel said to him:

"Well, monsieur, to judge by the course things are taking, together with your republican opinions, it is quite possible that I may have the honor of meeting you to-morrow on a barricade."

"I know not what may happen, monsieur," answered the linendraper; "but I neither 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 to Lebrenn, who left the salon.

CHAPTER VII.

"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_.