The Galley Slave's Ring; or, The Family of Lebrenn

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.

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.

CHAPTER VIII.
ON THE EVE OF BATTLE

Madam Lebrenn was agreeably surprised at seeing her son, whom she did not expect, thinking he was at the College. Velleda tenderly embraced her brother, while the merchant himself pressed the hand of his wife.

The resolute carriage of Sacrovir Lebrenn suggested the thought that he was worthy of bearing the glorious name of the hero of ancient Gaul, one of the greatest patriots of the land recorded in history.

Marik Lebrenn's son was a strapping lad of slightly over nineteen years. He had an open, kind and bold countenance. A sprouting beard shaded his lip and chin. His full cheeks were rosy, and looked bright with animation. He very much resembled his father.

Madam Lebrenn embraced her son, saying:

"I did not expect the pleasure, son, of seeing you here to-day."

"I went to the College for him," explained the merchant. "You will presently know the reason, my dear Henory."

"Without being exactly uneasy about you," said Madam Lebrenn to her husband, "Velleda and I were beginning to wonder what kept you away so long. It seems that the commotion in Paris is on the increase. Do you know they sounded the call to arms?"

"Oh! Mother," cried Sacrovir with eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm, "Paris has the fever – it follows that all hearts must be beating more strongly. Without knowing one another, people look for and understand at a glance. On all the streets the words you hear are ardent, patriotic appeals to arms. In short, it smells of gunpowder. Oh, mother! mother!" added the young man with exaltation, "what a beautiful sight is the awakening of a people!"

"Keep cool, enthusiast that you are!" said Madam Lebrenn.

And with her handkerchief she wiped the perspiration that stood in drops on her son's forehead. In the meantime Monsieur Lebrenn embraced his daughter.

"Gildas," the merchant called out to his clerk, "some chests must have been brought in during my absence."

"Yes, monsieur, linen bales and looking glasses. They have been deposited in the rear room."

"Very well – they can remain there. Be careful no fire comes near the bales."

"They must be inflammable stuff like bolting-cloth, muslin or gauze," Gildas thought to himself, "and yet they are heavy as lead – another puzzling thing!"

"My dear friend," Lebrenn said to his wife, "I have matters to talk over with you. Shall we go up to your room with the children, while Jeanike sets the table? It is getting late. You, Gildas, may put up the shutters. We shall have but few customers this afternoon."

"Close up the shop! Oh, monsieur, I think you are very right!" cried Gildas delightedly. "I thought so long ago."

And as he ran to execute the orders of his employer, the latter said to him:

"Stop a moment, Gildas. Do not close the front door. I expect several people to call for me. If they come take them to the rear room and notify me."

"Yes, monsieur," answered Gildas with a sigh, seeing he would have preferred to see the shop closed tight, and the door protected with its good strong iron bars, and bolted from within.

"And now, my dear," Lebrenn proceeded to say to his wife, "we shall go up to your room."

It was by this time almost dark. The merchant's family mounted to the first floor, and gathered in Madam Lebrenn's bedroom. The merchant then addressed his wife in a grave voice:

"My dear Henory, we are on the eve of great events."

"I believe it, my friend," answered Madam Lebrenn thoughtfully.

"I shall tell you in a few words how the situation has shaped itself to-day," proceeded Lebrenn. "Then judge whether my plan is good or bad; oppose it, if you disapprove, or encourage me if you approve."

"I listen, my friend," answered Madam Lebrenn calm, serious and thoughtful, like one of our mothers of old at the solemn councils where their views prevailed more than once.

Monsieur Lebrenn proceeded:

"After having carried on their agitation in France during three months by means of reform banquets, the deputies yesterday summoned the people to the street. Heart seemed to have failed the intrepid agitators at the last moment. They did not dare to appear at the rendezvous which they themselves had set. The people came in order to maintain their right of assemblage and to run their own business. It is now rumored that the King has appointed a cabinet out of the leaders of the dynastic center. This concession does not satisfy us. What we want, what the people want, is the total overthrow of the monarchy; we want the Republic, which means sovereignty for all – political rights for all – in order to insure education, wellbeing, work, and credit to all, provided we are brave and honest. That is our program, wife! Is it right or wrong?"

"Right!" answered Madam Lebrenn in a tone of firm conviction. "It is right!"

"I told you what we want," proceeded Lebrenn. "I shall now mention what we want no longer – we no longer want that two hundred thousand privileged electors be the sole arbiters of the fate of thirty-eight million proletarians or small holders, similar to what happened when a trifling minority of conquerors, Roman or Frankish, despoiled, enslaved and exploited our fathers for twenty centuries. No, we want an electoral or industrial feudality no more than we will tolerate the feudality of conquerors! Wife, is that right, or is it wrong?"

"It is right! Serfdom and even slavery have in reality perpetuated themselves down to our own days," answered Madam Lebrenn with indignation. "It is right! I am a woman, and I have seen women, the slaves of an insufficient wage, die by degrees, exhausted by excessive toil and want. It is right! I am a mother, I have seen young girls, the virtual slaves of certain manufacturers, forced to choose between dishonor and enforced idleness, which means hunger. It is right! I am a wife, and I have seen fathers of families, honest, industrious and intelligent traders, the slaves and victims of the whim or the usurious cupidity of their seigneurs the large capitalists, suffer bankruptcy, and be plunged into ruin and despair. Finally, your resolution is good and just, my friend," added Madam Lebrenn, extending her hand to her husband, "because, if you have hitherto been fortunate enough to escape many a snare, it is your duty to go to the assistance of those of our brothers who are afflicted with misfortunes that we remain exempt from."

"Brave and generous woman! You redouble my strength and courage," said the merchant, pressing Madam Lebrenn's hand in ecstacy. "I expected no less from you. But just as are the rights that we demand for our brothers, they will have to be conquered by force, arms in hand."

"I believe it, my friend."

"Accordingly," proceeded the merchant, "to-night, the barricades – to-morrow, battle. That is the reason why I fetched my son from his College. Do you approve? Shall he remain with us?"

"Yes," answered Madam Lebrenn. "Your son's place is at your side."

"Oh, thank you, mother!" cried the young man, joyously embracing his mother, who clasped him to her breast.

"Look at him, father," said Velleda to the merchant with a smile and nodding toward Sacrovir, "he looks as happy as if he were graduated."

"But tell me, my friend," asked Madam Lebrenn, addressing the merchant, "will the barricade, on which you and my son are to fight, be near our place? on this street?"

"It will be at our very door," answered Lebrenn. "Agreed?"

"All the better!" exclaimed Madam Lebrenn. "We shall be there – near you."

"Mother," interjected Velleda, "should we not prepare lint to-night, and bandages? There will be many wounded."

"I was thinking of that, my child. Our shop will serve as field-hospital."

"Oh, mother! Sister!" cried the young man. "We are to fight – and under your very eyes – for liberty! How that will inspire us! Alas," he added after a moment's reflection, "why should this be, this fratricidal duel?"

"It is a sad fact, my boy," answered Lebrenn with a sigh. "Oh, may the blood shed in such a strife fall upon the heads of those who compel the people to take up arms for their rights – as we shall have to do to-morrow – as our fathers have done in almost every century of our history!"

"Thank God, at least in our days the struggle takes place without hatred," replied the young man. "The soldier fights in the name of discipline – the people in the name of their rights. It is a deadly duel, but a loyal one, after which the surviving adversaries shake hands."

"But seeing these are survivers only, and I or my son may be laid low on the barricade," replied Monsieur Lebrenn with a benign smile, "there is one thing more I wish to impress upon you, my children. As you will see, where others turn pale with fright we will smile with serenity. Why? Because death does not exist for us; because, brought up in the belief of our fathers, instead of seeing in what is called the close of life only a dismal and fear-inspiring ending that plunges us into eternal darkness we see in death only the severance of the soul from the body, which emancipates the former, leaving it free to rejoin, or to wait for the sooner or later arrival of, those whom we love, and reunite with them on the other side of the veil, which, during our terrestrial life, hides from us the marvelous, the dazzling mysteries of our future lives, infinite lives as various as the divine power from which they emanate. To us, death is but a new birth."

"That is the picture I have of death," cried Sacrovir. "I feel sure I will die overmastered by curiosity. What new, wonderful, dazzling worlds there will be to visit!"

"Brother is right," put in the young girl with no less curiosity. "It must be beautiful to behold! novel! marvelous! And, besides, never more to be separated from our beloved ones but temporarily in all eternity! What a variety of infinite voyages there are to be made by us together in our new incarnations in the stars! Oh, when I think of that, mother, my head grows dizzy with impatience to see and know!"

"Go to, you inquisitive girl! Be not so impatient," answered Madam Lebrenn, smiling, and in a tone of affectionate reproach. "You know, when you were small, I always scolded you when, at your drawing lessons, you seemed to give less thought to the model that you were copying than to those that you were to copy later. Well, my dear child, do not allow your curiosity, however natural it may be, to ascertain what is on the other side of the curtain, as your father expresses it, to cause your mind to wander too much away from that which is on this side."

"Oh, you may be easy, mother, on that score!" answered the young girl affectionately. "On this side of the curtain are you and father and brother – quite enough to keep my mind from wandering."

"Just see how time is wasted in philosophizing!" interjected Lebrenn. "Jeanike will soon be calling us to supper, and still I shall not have told you a word of what I meant to confide to you. In case my curiosity should be satisfied before yours, my dear Henory," the merchant proceeded to say to his wife, pointing to a desk, "you will find there my last will. It is no secret to you. We have but one heart. But this," added Lebrenn, drawing a folded but not sealed letter from his pocket, "concerns our dear daughter. You are to give it to her after reading it yourself."

Velleda colored slightly, realizing that it referred to her marriage.

"As to you, my boy," proceeded the merchant, addressing his son, "take this key," and he detached it from his watch chain. "It is the key of the room with the closed windows which, until now, only your mother and I have entered. On the 11th of September of next year you will be twenty-one years of age. On that day, but not before, open the door. Among other things you will find a manuscript in the cabinet. It will impart to you the information of the immemorial tradition of our family – because," added Lebrenn interrupting himself with a smile, "we plebeians, we of the conquered race, we also have our archives, proletarian archives, often as glorious, you may believe me, as those of our conquerors. You will then learn, as I was saying, that, obedient to a family tradition, at the age of twenty-one the eldest son or, in default of a son, the eldest daughter, or our nearest of kin is to acquaint himself with our family archives and several relics that are gathered with them. And now, my loved ones," added Lebrenn in a moved voice, rising and throwing his arms around his wife and children, "a last embrace. Before to-morrow's sun goes down, we may be temporarily separated; the possibility of a separation ever saddens one a little."

It was a touching picture. Monsieur Lebrenn held his wife and children in a close embrace. His wife hung upon his neck, while with his right arm he held his daughter, and with his left his son. He pressed them all ardently to his breast, and they in turn held their father in their loving arms.

The touching group, a symbol of the family, remained silent for a few moments. Only the sound of exchanging kisses was heard. Their emotion once calmed, the group separated; heads were again held up serene, though affected: the mother and daughter grave and serious; the father and son tranquil and resolute.

"And now," resumed the merchant, "to work, my children. You, wife, will see to getting lint and bandages ready, with the help of your daughter and Jeanike. Sacrovir and I, while waiting for the hour when the barricades are to be simultaneously thrown up all over Paris, will unpack the cartridges and arms which a large number of our brothers will call for."

"But where are the arms, my friend?" inquired Madam Lebrenn.

"The chests," answered the merchant smiling, "the chests and bales that came in to-day."

"Oh, I now understand!" exclaimed Madam Lebrenn. "But you will have to take Gildas into your confidence. He is, no doubt, an honest lad. Still, do you not fear – "

"At this hour, my dear Henory, the mask may be raised. An indiscretion is no longer to be feared. If poor Gildas is afraid, I shall allow him to hide himself in some nook in the garret – or in the cellar. And now, first of all, to supper. After supper you and Velleda shall come up again with Jeanike to get everything in readiness for the hospital. We shall remain in the shop, Sacrovir and I, because we shall have a lot of company to-night."

The merchant and his family descended back into the shop and went to supper in the rear room, where their meal was hastily despatched.

The agitation grew intenser on the street with every minute. From the distance the muffled rumbling could be heard of large surging masses. It sounded threateningly, like the distant blast of an approaching storm. A few windows on the street were lighted in honor of the change of Cabinet officers. But some friends of Monsieur Lebrenn's, who came in and went out again several times to bring tidings of what was afoot, reported that the royal concessions were interpreted as a sign of weakness, that the night would be decisive, that everywhere the people were arming themselves by entering certain appointed houses and demanding guns, after which they would take their departure, leaving on the door an inscription in chalk – "Arms delivered."

After supper, Madam Lebrenn, her daughter and the maid returned upstairs to the first floor, into a room that faced the street. The merchant, his son and Gildas remained in the rear of the shop.

Gildas was gifted by nature with a robust appetite; nevertheless, he did not partake of supper. His uneasiness grew at every instant; with more insistence than ever he whispered to Jeanike, or muttered to himself:

"A puzzling house! A puzzling street! Altogether a puzzling city!"

"Gildas," called Lebrenn, "fetch me a couple of hammers and chisels. My son and I shall open these cases, while you may rip up the bales."

"The bales of linen, monsieur?"

"Yes – rip them open with your knife."

Furnished with hammers and chisels, the merchant and Sacrovir began to pry open the chests, while Gildas, who had rolled one of the bales flat on the floor, knelt down beside it and made ready to cut it open.

"Monsieur!" he suddenly cried, frightened by the hard blows that Lebrenn was dealing to the chest with his hammer. "Monsieur! If it please you, take care – look at the lettering on the chests —glass! You will break the looking-glasses to pieces!"

"Do not be frightened, Gildas," answered his employer, "these looking glasses are of solid material."

"They are plated with lead and iron, my friend Gildas," added Sacrovir, striking still more heavily.