THE GALLEY-SLAVE AND THE GENERAL.

About eighteen months have elapsed since the memorable day of the imposing ceremonies described in the previous chapter, that were so rich with splendid promises to France--and all the world. It is after the lapse of that period that we are now to meet again Marik Lebrenn and his family.

The following scene was taking place in the early part of the month of September, in 1849, at the convict-prison of Rochefort.

The meal hour had sounded. The convicts were eating.

One of the galley-slaves, attired like all the others in the regulation red vest and red cap, with the _manille_, or iron ring fastened to a heavy chain, on his feet, sat on a stone, and was biting into a chunk of black bread.

The galley-slave was Marik Lebrenn.

He had been sentenced to hard labor by a council of war after the June insurrection of 1848.

The merchant's features preserved their usual expression of serenity and firmness. The only change in him was that his face, exposed during his arduous work to the scorching heat of the sun on the water, had acquired, one might say, the color of brick.

A guard, with sword at his side and cane in hand, after having looked over several groups of convicts, stopped, as if he were in search of someone, and then, pointing with his cane in the direction of Marik Lebrenn, called out:

"Halloa, down there--number eleven hundred and twenty!"

The merchant continued to eat his black bread with a hearty appet.i.te and did not answer.

"Number eleven hundred and twenty!" repeated the guard in a louder voice. "Don't you hear me, scamp!"

Continued silence on the part of Lebrenn.

Grumbling and put out at being obliged to take a few more steps, the guard approached Lebrenn at a rapid pace, and touching him with the end of his cane, addressed him roughly:

"The devil! Are you deaf? Answer me, you brute!"

As Lebrenn felt himself touched by the guard's cane his face lowered, but quickly suppressing the impulse to anger and indignation, he answered calmly:

"What do you want?"

"I called you twice--eleven hundred and twenty! And you did not answer.

Do you expect to escape me in that way? Look out!"

"Come, be not so brutal!" answered Lebrenn, shrugging his shoulders. "I did not answer you because I have not yet become accustomed to hearing myself called by any but my own name--and I am always forgetting that my present name is _eleven hundred and twenty_."

"Enough of argumentation! Step up, and come to the Commissioner of Marine."

"What for?"

"None of your business. Step up! march! quick!"

"I follow you," said Lebrenn with imperturbable calmness.

After crossing a part of the port, the guard, followed closely by the galley-slave, arrived at the door of the Commissioner in charge of the convicts.

"Will you kindly notify the Commissioner that I have brought him number eleven hundred and twenty?" said the guard to one of the keepers at the door.

A minute later the keeper returned, ordered the merchant to follow him, led him down a long corridor, and opening the door of a richly furnished room, said to Lebrenn:

"Walk in, and wait there."

"How is that?" asked the astonished merchant. "You leave me alone?"

"The Commissioner so ordered me."

"The devil!" exclaimed Lebrenn smiling. "This is a mark of confidence that flatters me greatly."

The keeper closed the door and left.

"Once more, the devil!" said Lebrenn with a broader grin as his eyes alighted upon an inviting arm-chair. "This is a good opportunity for me to enjoy a more comfortable seat than the stone benches of the prison yard."

And comfortably dropping into the soft seat he proceeded:

"No question about it, a good arm-chair is one of the comforts of life."

At that moment a side door opened and Lebrenn saw a tall man in the uniform of Brigadier General--blue coat, gold epaulettes and dark brown trousers--enter the apartment.

At the sight of the staff officer, Lebrenn was seized with surprise, sat up straight, and cried:

"Monsieur Plouernel!"

"Who did not forget the evening of February 23, 1848, monsieur,"

answered the General, stepping forward, and cordially extending his hand to Lebrenn. The latter took the proffered hand, and, while doing so, saw and considered the meaning of the two silver stars that ornamented the Count of Plouernel's epaulettes. With a smile of good-natured irony the merchant replied:

"You have become a General in the service of the Republic, monsieur, and I a galley-slave! You must admit, this is piquant."

The Count of Plouernel contemplated the merchant with astonishment. He had expected to see him either utterly dejected, or in a state of violent indignation. He found him calm, smiling and witty.

"Well, monsieur," proceeded Lebrenn, keeping his seat while the General, standing before him, continued to contemplate the man with increasing wonderment. "Well, monsieur, it is almost eighteen months since that evening of February 23, which it has pleased you to recall to memory!

Who would then have thought that we would have met again in the position in which we find ourselves to-day!"

"Such fort.i.tude!" exclaimed the Count of Plouernel. "This is heroism!"

"Not at all, monsieur--it is simply a matter of a clean conscience, and of confidence."

"Confidence!"

"Yes. I am calm because I have faith in the cause to which I devoted my life--and because my conscience a.s.sails me with no reproaches."

"And yet--you are in this place, monsieur."

"I pity the error of my judges."

"You--the incarnation of honor, in the livery of infamy!"