by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER X.
ON THE BARRICADE.
Shortly after the execution of the thief day began to dawn.
Presently the men who were stationed on the lookout at the corners ofthe streets in the neighborhood of the barricade, that now reachedalmost as high as the first story windows of the linendraper's house,were seen falling back; after firing their pieces, they cried out "Toarms!"
Almost immediately after, the drums, silent until then, were heard tobeat the charge, and two companies of the Municipal Guards turned infrom a side street and marched resolutely upon the barricade.Instantaneously the interior of the improvised fortress was filled withdefenders.
Monsieur Lebrenn, his son, George Duchene and their friends took theirposts and held their guns in readiness.
Father Bribri, who was a great lover of tobacco, foreseeing that hemight soon not have leisure to take his pinch of snuff, inhaled a lastload out of his pouch, seized his musket and knelt down in front of aspecies of loophole that was contrived between several cobblestones,while Flameche, pistol in hand, climbed up the ledges like a cat, inorder to reach the summit of the barricade.
"Will you come down, you imp, and not make a target of your nose!" criedout the ragpicker, pulling Flameche by the leg. "You will be shot todust."
"No fear, father Bribri!" replied Flameche, tugging away, and finallysucceeding in slipping from the old man's grip. "This is gratis--I wishto treat myself to a first salvo, face to face--and have a good look atthings."
And raising half his body above the barricade, Flameche stuck out histongue to the Municipal Guard, which was approaching at the doublequick.
Addressing the combatants who surrounded him, Monsieur Lebrenn said:
"Those soldiers are, after all, our brothers. Let us make one lastattempt to avoid the effusion of blood."
"You are right--try again, Monsieur Lebrenn," came from the bare-armedblacksmith as he flipped the stock of his gun with his nail; "but itwill be love's labor lost--as you will see."
The merchant climbed to the top of the heap of cobblestones. Standingthere, with one hand resting upon his gun, and waving a handkerchiefwith the other, he signalled to the approaching soldiers that he wishedto speak to them.
The drums of the detachment ceased beating, rolled the order forsilence, and all listened.
At one of the windows on the first floor of the merchant's house hiswife and daughter stood partly concealed behind the blinds, which theyhad slightly opened. They stood side by side, holding their breath,pale, but calm and resolute. They did not remove their eyes from Lebrennas he was addressing the soldiers with his son--who had closely followedhis father up the barricade in order, if necessary, to cover him withhis own body--standing beside him, gun in hand. George Duchene was aboutto join the two when he suddenly felt himself violently plucked back byhis blouse.
He turned and saw Pradeline. She had been running fast, as the rednessof her cheeks and short breath denoted.
The defenders of the barricade had seen the young girl approach; theywere surprised to see her among them. As she sought to push her waythrough the crowd in order to reach George, they said to her:
"Don't stay here, young woman; it is too dangerous a place."
"You here!" cried George stupefied at the sight of Pradeline.
"George, listen to me!" the girl said to him imploringly. "I went twiceto your house yesterday, and failed to find you at home. I wrote to youthat I would call again this morning. To keep my appointment I had tocross several barricades, and--"
"Stand back!" cried George, alarmed for her safety. "You will beshot--this is no place for you."
"George, I have come to render you a service--I--"
Pradeline could not finish her sentence. Lebrenn, who had in vain beenparleying with the captain of the Municipal Guards, turned around andcried out:
"They insist upon war! Very well, war it shall be! Wait for them to openfire--then return it."
The Municipal Guard fired; the insurgents responded; soon a cloud ofsmoke hovered above the barricade. Shots were fired from the neighboringwindows; shots came from the air-holes of the cellars; even the oldgrandfather of George Duchene could be seen at his attic window throwingupon the heads of the Municipal Guard, in default of better arms andammunition, all manner of household furniture and kitchenutensils--tables, chairs, pots and pitchers; in short, everything thatcould go through the window was hurled down by the good old invalid oftoil, as Lebrenn had justly styled him. It was an almost comic sight.The old man seemed to be moving out by the window. When his supply ofprojectiles was exhausted, he threw in despair even his cotton cap atthe troops. He then looked around, disconsolate at finding nothing morehandy to his purpose, but immediately a shout of triumph went up fromhis throat, and he began to tear up the roof tiles that were withinreach of his hands, and to fling them one after the other down upon thesoldiers.
The engagement was hotly contested. After returning the discharges ofthe insurgents with several rounds of shot, the Municipalists rushedintrepidly upon the barricade with felled bayonets, expecting to carryit by assault.
Several groups could be descried through the dense whitish smoke thatsettled and rose over the top of the barricade. In one of these groups,Marik Lebrenn, after having discharged his gun, was wielding it as aclub to drive the assailants back. His son and George, close behindhim, seconded his efforts vigorously. From time to time, and withoutlagging in the fight, father and son cast a hurried glance at the halfopen blinds above their heads, and off and on these words reached theirears:
"Courage, Marik!" would come from Madam Lebrenn. "Courage, my son!"
"Courage, father!" echoed Velleda. "Courage, brother!"
A stray bullet shattered with a great clatter one of the thin slats ofthe lattice behind which the two heroic women were posted. The two trueGallic women, as Lebrenn called them, did not wince. They remained intheir places to watch the merchant and his son.
There was a moment when, after boldly struggling hand to hand with acaptain, and having beaten the officer down, Lebrenn was endeavoring toregain his feet, which slipped and stumbled over the uncertaincobblestones; on the instant a soldier who had succeeded in reaching thetop of the barricade, and from his elevated position towered over themerchant, raised his gun, and was on the point of transfixing thelinendraper with his bayonet. George perceived the imminent danger ofVelleda's father; he threw himself in front of the threatened thrust;the bayonet ran through his arm and he dropped to the ground. Thesoldier was about to deal the merchant's protector a second thrust whentwo small hands seized him by his legs, and holding him with theconvulsive grip of despair, caused him to lose his balance. Headforemost the soldier rolled down the other side of the barricade.
George owed his life to Pradeline. Bold as a lioness, her hairstreaming, her cheeks aflame, the girl had managed to draw near toGeorge during the struggle. The very instant, however, after she hadsaved him, a rebounding bullet struck her in the breast. She fell downupon her knees and fainted--her last glances sought George.[9]
Father Bribri, seeing the young woman wounded, dropped his musket, ranto her, and raised her up. He was looking around for some safe place tolay her down when he noticed Madam Lebrenn and her daughter at the doorof the shop. They had just descended from the floor above, and werebusy, with the help of Gildas and Jeanike, making preparations toreceive the wounded.
Gildas was beginning to accustom himself to the firing. He aided fatherBribri to transport Pradeline into the rear room, where Madam Lebrennand her daughter immediately turned their attention to her.
The ragpicker was stepping out of the shop when there came, rolling downto his feet, a frail body clad in tattered trousers and a ragged jacket,all clotted with blood.
"Oh, my poor Flameche!" cried the old man, trying to pick up the boy."Are you wounded? It may not be dangerous--courage!"
"I am done for, father Bribri," answered the boy in a fast ebbing voice."It is a pity--I shall not--go--angling for
the red fishesin--the--pond--of--"
And he expired.
A big tear rolled down upon the scrubby beard of the ragpicker.
"Poor little devil! he was not a bad boy," father Bribri soliloquizedwith a sigh. "He dies as he lived--on the Paris pavement!"
Such was the short funeral oration pronounced over Flameche's body.
At the moment that the poor boy died, George's grandfather, unable anylonger to restrain himself, decided, despite his feebleness, to join thefray. He hurried down to the street, and ran to the barricade. From hiswindow, his ammunition, moveables and fixtures, being exhausted, he hadhad leisure to follow the vicissitudes of the conflict. He saw thelittle fellow fall; looked for him among the dead and the wounded; hecalled to him in heartrending accents.
So stubborn was the resistance offered by the defenders of the barricadethat the Municipalists, after sustaining heavy losses, were compelled tobeat a retreat, which they effected in good order.
The firing had ceased for several minutes when suddenly a shot was heardin the near vicinity, and, almost immediately after, the sound of horsesapproaching at a gallop.
Presently, on the rear side of the barricade, a colonel of dragoons hovein sight, followed by a number of horsemen, sabers in hand, like theircommander, driving before them a group of insurgents who fired atintervals as they retreated on the run.
It was Colonel Plouernel. Separated from his squadron by an onrush ofinsurgents, he was endeavoring to cut himself a passage to theboulevard, not imagining he would find his path barred at that spot by abarricade.
The combat, suspended for a moment, broke out afresh. At first thedefenders of the barricade believed that the small number of trooperswas the vanguard of a regiment which meant to take them in the rear, andthus place them between two fires, by the return of the Municipalists tothe assault.
The fifteen or twenty dragoons commanded by Colonel Plouernel werereceived with a general discharge of musketry. Several of the dragoonsfell; the colonel himself was wounded. But obedient to his naturalintrepidity, he drove his spurs into his horse's flanks, waved his swordand cried out:
"Dragoons! Cut down this rabble with your swords!"
The colonel's horse gave an enormous bound; it brought him to the verybase of the barricade, but the animal slipped over the rollingcobblestones and fell prone.
Although wounded and pinned to the ground under his mount, the Count ofPlouernel still defended himself with heroic valor. His every swordthrust found its mark. But it was all of no avail; he was about tosuccumb to superior numbers when, at the risk of his own life, MonsieurLebrenn, assisted by his son and George, although the latter waswounded, threw themselves between the prostrate colonel and hisexasperated assailants, and succeeded in extricating him from under hishorse, and in pushing him into the shop.
"Friends! These dragoons are isolated; they are in no condition toresist us; let us disarm them; let there be no useless carnage--they areour brothers!" someone cried.
"Mercy to the soldiers--but death to their colonel!" cried the men whohad just been driven to the spot before the merciless and headlongonslaught of the Count of Plouernel. "Death to the colonel!"
"Yes! Yes!" repeated several voices.
"No!" shouted back the linendraper, barring the door with his gun, whileGeorge came to his support. "No! No! No massacre after battle! Nocowardice!"
"The colonel killed my brother with a pistol shot fired within an inchof his face--down there, at the corner of the street," bellowed a manwith bloodshot eyes, his mouth foaming with rage, and brandishing asword. "Death to the colonel!"
"Yes! Yes! Death!" shouted several threatening voices. "Death!"
"No! You shall not kill a wounded man! You can not mean to murder anunarmed man--a prisoner!"
"Death," shouted back an increasing number of angry voices. "Death!"
"Very well, walk in! Let us see if you will have the heart to dishonorthe cause of the people with a crime."
And the merchant, although ready to offer fresh resistance to theferocity of the angry men, left free the passage of the door which hehad until then blocked.
The assailants remained motionless. Lebrenn's words had gone home.
Nevertheless, the man who desired to avenge his brother rushed forward,sword in hand, emitting a savage cry. Already his feet were on thethreshold when, seizing him by the waist, George held him back, saying:
"Would you, indeed, commit murder! Oh, no, brother! You are nomurderer!"
And with tears in his eyes, George Duchene embraced the man.
George's voice, his countenance, his accent and his deportment made sodeep an impression upon the angry man who cried for vengeance, that helowered his head, flung away his sword, and, dropping upon a heap ofcobblestones, covered his face in his hands, murmuring between the sobsthat choked him:
"My brother! My poor brother!"
* * * * *
The struggle was over. The merchant's son went out for tidings, andreturned with the information that the King, together with the royalfamily, had fled; that everywhere the troops fraternized with thepeople; that the Chamber of Deputies was dissolved; and that aprovisional government was set up at the City Hall.
The wounded, whether they belonged to the insurrectionists or to thearmy, were transported to the improvised hospitals that were set up inseveral shops, as had been done in the linendraper's. As much attentionwas bestowed upon the soldiers as upon those who shortly before wereengaged in a deadly struggle with them. The women gathered around thewounded. If there was aught to be regretted it was the excessiveness ofthe zeal of the tenders of good offices.
Several soldiers of the Municipal Guard, besides an officer of dragoonswho accompanied Colonel Plouernel, having been taken prisoner, they weredistributed among the neighboring houses, whence they soon thereafteremerged in civilian dress, and arm in arm with their adversaries of thesame morning.
Lebrenn's shop was crowded with wounded men. One of these lay upon thecounter; the others on mattresses hastily spread upon the floor. Themerchant and his family assisted several surgeons of the quarter. Gildaswas engaged in distributing wine mixed with water to the patients, whosethroats were parched with thirst. Among the latter, and lying besideeach other upon the same mattress, were father Bribri and a sergeant ofthe Municipal Guards, an old soldier with moustaches as grey as those ofthe ragpicker himself.
The latter, after having pronounced Flameche's funeral oration, had beenshot in the leg during the encounter with the dragoons. The sergeant, onhis part, had received a wound in the loins in the course of the firstattack that the barricade had to sustain.
"Zounds! How I suffer!" murmured the sergeant. "And what a thirst! Mythroat is on fire!"
Father Bribri overheard the words, and seeing Gildas approach holding inone hand a bottle of wine and water, and in the other a basket withglasses, called out to him as if he were at an inn:
"Waiter! This way, waiter! The old man here wants something to drink, ifyou please! He is thirsty!"
Surprised and touched by the civility of his companion on the mattress,the sergeant said to him:
"Thank you, my good old man; I may not decline, because I feel as if Iwould choke."
Upon the summons of father Bribri, Gildas filled one of the glasses inhis basket. He stooped down and handed it to the soldier. The latteressayed to rise, but failed, and said as he dropped back:
"Zounds! I can not sit up. My loins are shattered."
"Wait a second, sergeant," said father Bribri; "one of my legs isdisabled, but my loins and arms are still sea-worthy. I shall give you ahelping hand."
The ragpicker helped the soldier to sit up, and supported him until hehad emptied his glass. After that he gently helped him to lie downagain.
"Thanks, and pardon the trouble, my good old man," said theMunicipalist.
"At your service, sergeant."
"Tell me, old boy--"
"What is it, sergeant?"
&nb
sp; "Doesn't it strike you that this thing is rather droll?"
"What, sergeant?"
"Well, to think that two hours ago we were trying to shoot holes througheach other, and now we are exchanging courtesies."
"Don't mention it, sergeant! Shots are stupid things."
"All the more when people have no ill-will for each other--"
"Zounds! May the devil take me, sergeant, if I had any ill-will towardsyou! Nevertheless, for all I know, it was I who put the bullet in yourloin--just as, without having the slightest ill feeling for me, youwould have planted your bayonet in my bowels. Wherefore, I repeat it, itis a stupid thing for people who have no ill-will toward each other tocome to blows."
"That's the truth of it."
"And, furthermore, were you particularly stuck upon Louis Philippe,sergeant?"
"I? Little did I trouble my head about him! What I was after was toobtain my furlough, so that I could go to the country and plant mycabbages. That's what I was after. And you, old boy, what were youafter?"
"I am after the Republic that will guarantee work, and will furnishbread to those who need it."
"If that is so, old fellow, I am as much for the Republic as yourself,because I have a poor brother with a large family upon his hands, towhom to be out of work is like death. Ah! And was it for that that youfought, old fellow? By my honor, you were not so far out of the way.Long live the Republic!"
"And yet, it may be you, old fraud, who shot that bullet into myleg--but, at least you are not to be blamed."
"How the devil could I help it! Do we ever know why we fall into oneanother's hair? The old custom of obeying orders is what sets us agoing.We are ordered to fire--and we fire, without at first taking anyparticular aim--that's true. But the other side answers in kind.Zounds! From that minute it is each for his own skin."
"I believe you."
"And then one gets pricked, or sees a comrade fall; he grows hotter inthe collar; the smell of gunpowder intoxicates you; and then you beginto bellow as if you were among deaf people--"
"Once so far, the rest comes natural, sergeant!"
"It does not matter so much, you see, my good old man, so long as youare at guns' length. But the moment you come to close quarters, to abayonet charge, and you can see the white of each others' eyes, then thecompliments exchanged are: 'Take this!' 'Take that!' and yet one feels aweakness stealing over his legs and arms."
"Quite natural, sergeant, because you think to yourself--'These are,after all, brave fellows who want the Reform, they want the Republic.Good--what harm can they do me? Besides, am I not one of the commonpeople, like themselves? Have I not relatives and friends among thecommon people? I wager a hundred to one that I should be of theiropinion, that I should fall in line with them, instead of charging uponthem'--"
"That's so true, my old man, that I'm as much for the Republic asyourself, if it can furnish work to my poor brother."
"And that's why I repeat, sergeant, that there is nothing so stupid asfor people to shoot holes into one another, without, at least, knowingthe why and the wherefore."
Saying this father Bribri drew out of his pocket his old snuff-box ofwhite wood, and holding it out to his companion, added:
"Will you have some, sergeant?"
"Zounds! That's not to be refused, old man; it will help to clear up myhead."
"Tell me, sergeant," remarked father Bribri laughing, "have you perhapsa cold in the head? Do you know the song:
"There were six soldiers, or five, They had a cold in the head--"
"Ah, you gay old fraud!" exclaimed the Municipalist, giving hismattress-fellow a friendly tap on the shoulder and laughing heartily atthe opportune refrain. He took a pinch of snuff, and after absorbing andrelishing it like a connoisseur, he added:
"Zounds! This is good!"
"I'll take you into my confidence, sergeant," whispered father Bribri,taking a pinch himself, "this is my only luxury. I get it at theCivitte, nowhere else!"
"That's the very place my wife makes her purchases in."
"Oh, so, then, you are married, sergeant? The devil take it! Your poorwife must be feeling frightfully uneasy."
"Yes, she is an excellent woman. If my wound is not fatal, old man, youmust come to my house and take a bowl of soup with us. Ho! Ho! We shallchat about St. Denis Street while nibbling a crust."
"You are very kind, sergeant. Neither is that to be refused. And seeingthat I do not keep house, you and your wife must return the visit bycoming and sharing a rabbit-stew with me on the outer boulevard."
"Agreed, old man!"
As the civilian and the Municipalist were exchanging these courtesies,Monsieur Lebrenn came out of the rear room, the door of which had beenkept closed. The linendraper looked pale; there were tears in his eyes.He said to his wife, whom he found busy attending one of the woundedmen:
"Will you come in a minute, my dear friend?"
Madam Lebrenn joined her husband, and the door of the rear room closedbehind them. There a sad spectacle presented itself to the eyes of themerchant's wife.
Pradeline lay stretched out upon a sofa. The girl was in her deathagony. George Duchene, with his arm in a sling, was on his knees besideher, urging her to take some of the wine and water in a cup that he heldup to her lips.
At the sight of Madam Lebrenn, the poor creature endeavored to smile.She gathered all the strength she could, and said in a faint and brokenvoice:
"Madam--I asked to see you--before I die--in order to tell you--thetruth about George. I was an orphan; I worked at flower-making. I hadsuffered a good deal--underwent untold privations--but still I kept mycharacter. I should also say, so as not to praise myself too highly, Ihad never been tempted," she added with a bitter sigh; and then shesmiled: "I met George upon his return from the army--I fell in lovewith him--I loved him--Oh! I loved him dearly--let that pass--he was theonly one--perhaps it was because he never became my lover. I am sure Iloved him more than he loved me. He was better than I--it was out ofkindness that he offered to marry me. Unfortunately, a girl friendcrossed my way and led me astray. She had been a working girl, likemyself--and misery had driven her to sell herself! I saw her rich, welldressed--well fed--she urged me to do as she had done--my head turned--Iforgot George--but not for long--but for nothing in the world would Ihave dared to appear before him again. Occasionally, nevertheless, Iwould come to this street--seeking to catch a glimpse of him. I saw himmore than once at work in your shop, madam--and talking to yourdaughter, who seemed to me very beautiful--Oh, as beautiful as the day!A presentiment told me George was bound to fall in love with her. Iwatched him--more than once, recently, I saw him early in the morning athis window--looking across the street at yours. Yesterday morning I waswith someone--"
A feeble blush of shame colored for an instant the pallid cheeks of thedying girl. She dropped her eyes, and presently proceeded in a voicethat was fast sinking:
"There--accidentally--I learned that that person--found yourdaughter--very beautiful, and--knowing that that person isutterly--reckless of consequences--I feared for your daughter and forGeorge--I tried--yesterday--to notify him--he was not at home; I wroteto him--asking to see him, without stating my reasons--This morning--Iwent out--without knowing--that there--were barricades--and--"
The young girl could not finish; her head fell back; mechanically sheraised both her hands to the wound on her bosom, heaved a sigh ofprofound grief, and stammered a few unintelligible words. Monsieur andMadam Lebrenn wept in silence as they contemplated her.
"Josephine," said George, "do you suffer much?" And covering his eyeswith his hands he added: "This mortal wound--was received by her in theattempt to save my life!"
"George--George," muttered the dying girl almost inaudibly, as her eyesroved aimlessly about, "George--you--do--not know--"
And she began to laugh.
That laugh of death was heartrending.
"Poor child! Come to your senses," pleaded Madam Lebrenn.
"My name is Pradelin
e," came deliriously from the wretched girl."Yes--because--I always sing."
"Unhappy child!" cried Lebrenn. "Poor girl, she is delirious!"
"George," she resumed, her mind wandering, "listen to my songs--"
And in an expiring voice she improvised to her favorite melody:
"I feel th'approach of death, I'm breathing my last breath-- It is my fate, and yet I grieve--to die--"
She did not complete the last line. Her arms twitched; her head droopedupon her shoulder. She was dead.
That instant, Gildas opened the door that communicated with a backstaircase leading to the upper story, and said to the merchant:
"Monsieur, the colonel upstairs wishes to speak with you."
The merchant went up to his own bed chamber, where the colonel had beenquartered as a measure of precaution.
The Count of Plouernel had received only two slight wounds, but wasseverely bruised. In order to facilitate the staunching of the blood hehad taken off his uniform.
Lebrenn found his guest standing in the middle of the apartment, paleand somber.
"Monsieur," said he, "my wounds are not serious enough to prevent mefrom leaving the house. I shall never forget your generous conducttowards me. Your conduct was all the more noble in view of whattranspired between us yesterday morning. My only wish is to be able someday to return your generosity. That, I suppose, will be difficult,monsieur, seeing my party is vanquished, and you are the vanquishers. Iwas blind with regard to the actual state of public sentiment. Thissudden Revolution opens my eyes. I realize it--yes, the day of thepeople's triumph has come. We had our day, as you said to me yesterday,monsieur; your turn has come."
"I think so too, monsieur. But now, allow me to advise you. It would notbe prudent for you to go out in uniform. The popular effervescence hasnot yet cooled down. I shall supply you with a coat and hat, and, inthe company of one of my friends, you will be able to return to your ownresidence without any difficulty, or running any danger."
"Monsieur! You can not mean that! To disguise myself--that would becowardice!"
"If you please, monsieur! No exaggerated scruples! Have you not theconsciousness of having fought with intrepidity to the very end?"
"Yes; but of having been disarmed--by--"
But the Count of Plouernel checked himself, and offering his hand to themerchant said:
"Pardon me, monsieur--I forgot myself; besides, I am vanquished. Itshall be as you say. I shall take your advice. I shall assume thedisguise without feeling that I am committing an act of cowardice. A manwhose conduct is as worthy as yours must be a good judge in matters ofhonor."
A minute later the Count of Plouernel was in bourgeois dress, thanks tothe clothes that the merchant lent him.
The Count then pointed to his battered casque which lay on top of hisuniform, that had been torn in several places during the struggle, andsaid to Monsieur Lebrenn:
"Monsieur, I request you to keep my casque, in default of my sword,which I would have preferred to leave with you as a souvenir from asoldier whose life you generously saved--as a token of gratitude."
"I accept it, monsieur," answered the linendraper. "I shall join thecasque to several other souvenirs which have come down to me from yourfamily."
"From my family!" exclaimed the Count of Plouernel in amazement. "Frommy family! Do you know my family?"
"Alas, monsieur," answered the merchant in melancholy tones, "this wasnot the first time that, in the course of the centuries, a Neroweg ofPlouernel and a Lebrenn met, arms in hand."
"What is that you say, monsieur?" asked the Count with increasingwonderment. "I pray you, explain yourself."
Two raps at the door interrupted the conversation of Monsieur Lebrennand his guest.
"Who is there?" demanded the merchant.
"I, father."
"Walk in, my boy!"
"Father," said Sacrovir in great glee, "several friends are downstairs.They come from the City Hall. They want to see you."
"My boy," said Monsieur Lebrenn, "you are known as well as myself in thestreet. I wish you to escort our guest home. Take the back stairs inorder to avoid going out by the shop door. Do not leave MonsieurPlouernel until he is safe at home."
"Rest assured, father. I have already crossed the barricade twice. Ianswer for monsieur's safety."
"Excuse me, monsieur, if I now leave you," said the merchant to theCount of Plouernel. "My friends are waiting for me."
"Adieu, monsieur," answered the Count in a voice that came from theheart. "I do not know what the future has in store for us; mayhap wemay meet again in opposite camps; but I swear to you, I shall not,henceforth, be able to look upon you as an enemy."
With these words the Count of Plouernel followed the merchant's son.
Monsieur Lebrenn, left alone in the chamber, contemplated the colonel'scasque for a moment, and muttered to himself:
"Truly, there are strange fatalities in this world."
He lifted up the casque and took it into that mysterious chamber whichso much excited the curiosity of Gildas.
Lebrenn then joined his friends, from whom he learned that there was nolonger any doubt but that the Republic would be proclaimed by theprovisional government.
