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

"Monsieur – two words – "

"Allow me, I shall be done in a second," interposed the linendraper; and he proceeded in a grave, almost solemn voice:

"Monsieur George, I place implicit confidence in your word. I have tested you. Swear to me that you do not belong to any secret society. I will believe you, and you shall be my son-in-law – or, rather, my own son," added Lebrenn, reaching out his hand to George, "seeing that since I became acquainted with you and learned to esteem you, I ever felt for you, I repeat it, as much interest as sympathy."

The merchant's praises, together with the cordiality of his manner, intensified the severity of the blow that smote the hopes of George. He, hitherto so determined and energetic, felt himself weakening. He covered his face in his hands, and could not restrain his tears.

Lebrenn contemplated him with commiseration. In a moved voice he addressed the young man:

"I am awaiting your oath, Monsieur George."

The young man turned his head aside to wipe away his tears. He then faced the father of his beloved and said:

"I can not, monsieur, give you the oath that you request."

"Then – your marriage to my daughter – "

"I must renounce it, monsieur," answered George painfully.

"Accordingly, Monsieur George," resumed the merchant, "you admit that you belong to a secret society?"

The young man's silence was his only reply.

"Well," said the merchant, heaving a sigh of regret, and rising; "it is all ended – fortunately my daughter is a brave girl."

"I also shall be so, monsieur."

"Monsieur George," continued the merchant, reaching out his hand to the young carpenter, "you are a man of honor. I need not demand of you secrecy concerning this interview. As you may judge, my inclinations were most favorable towards you. It is not my fault if my plans – I shall say more – my wishes, my warm wishes, to see my daughter and you united meet with an insuperable obstacle."

"Never, monsieur, shall I forget the token of esteem with which you have honored me. You act with the wisdom and discretion of a father. I can not – let it cost me what grief it may – but bow respectfully to your decision. I should, I admit it, myself have forestalled this subject with you – I should have loyally apprized you of the sacred engagement that binds me to my party. I am certain I would have made the confession to you, so soon as I had recovered from the intoxication of happiness that your words threw me into. I would have had time to consider the duties imposed upon me by that unexpected happiness – this marriage. Pardon me, monsieur," George proceeded, in a voice that trembled with anguish, "pardon me. I have no longer the right to speak of that beautiful dream. But what I shall ever remember with pride is your having said to me: 'You can be my son.'"

"It is well, Monsieur George; I expected no less from you," said Lebrenn, moving towards the door.

And, giving his hand once more to the young man, he added with emotion:

"Once more, adieu."

"Adieu, monsieur," responded George, taking the outstretched hand of the merchant. But the latter, suddenly throwing his arms around the young artisan, pressed him to his breast, crying in a voice that shook with joy, and with eyes moist with tears:

"Well done, George! Honest man! Loyal heart! I judged you rightly!"

Puzzled at these words, and at the conduct of the linendraper, George looked at him unable to utter a word. The latter whispered to him:

"Six weeks ago —Lourcine Street."

A tremor ran over George's frame. In alarm he exclaimed:

"Mercy, monsieur!"

"Number seventeen, fourth floor, in the rear."

"Monsieur, I beg of you!"

"Did not a mechanic named Dupont introduce you blindfolded?"

"Monsieur, I can make no answer."

"Five members of a secret society received you. You took the usual pledge. And you were led out again, still blindfolded. Not so?"

"Monsieur," cried George as stupefied as he was terror-stricken at the revelation, and seeking to regain composure. "I do not understand what you are saying – "

"I was, that evening, the chairman of the committee, my brave George."

"You, monsieur!" cried the young man still hesitating to believe Lebrenn. "You!"

"Yes, I."

And seeing incredulity still depicted on George's countenance, the merchant proceeded:

"Yes, I presided. And here is the proof."

Saying which he whispered a few words in George's ear.

Unable any longer to doubt, the young man cried, looking at the merchant:

"But, monsieur – the oath that you demanded of me a while ago?"

"It was a last test."

"A test?"

"You must pardon me for it, my brave George. A father is mistrustful. Thank heaven you did not belie my expectations. You stood the test gallantly. You preferred the ruin of your dearest hopes to a lie, notwithstanding you must have felt sure that I relied upon your word with implicit confidence, whatever you may have said."

"Monsieur," replied George with a hesitation that deeply touched the merchant, "can I now – can I this time – can I hope – with certainty? I conjure you, speak! If you only knew what anguish I went through a while ago!"

"Upon my word as an honest man, my dear George, my daughter loves you. My wife and I consent to your marriage. And we look forward to it with delight because we see in it a future of happiness for our child. Is that plain?"

"Oh, monsieur!" cried George pressing with effusion the hand of the merchant, who said:

"As to the exact day of your marriage, my dear George, the events of yesterday – those that are in train to-day – the course that our secret society is to follow – "

"You, monsieur?" cried George with renewed amazement, and unable to avoid interrupting Lebrenn to express his astonishment, for a moment forgotten in his transport of joy; "You, monsieur, are, indeed, a member of our secret society? Indeed, I am dumbfounded!"

"Not bad!" exclaimed the merchant smiling. "Here we have our dear George about to start all over anew with his astonishment. And why, pray, should not I also belong to your secret society? Perchance, because, without being rich, exactly, I enjoy some comfort and have a few duds to sell? What business have I, I suppose you are thinking, with a party, the aim of which is the conquest for the proletariat of political life, through universal suffrage, and of property through the organization of labor? Why, my good George, just because I have, it is my duty to assist my brothers to conquer what they have not."

"These are generous sentiments, monsieur!" exclaimed George. "Rare, indeed, are the men who, having arrived at comfort, turn around to give a helping hand to their less fortunate brothers."

"No, George; no. That is not so rare. When, perhaps within not many hours, you will see running to arms all the members of our society, one of the chiefs of which I have been for some time, you will find among them merchants, artists, manufacturers, literary people, lawyers, men of learning, physicians, in short —bourgeois, most of whom, like myself, live in modest comfort, all of them animated with no higher ambition than the emancipation of their brothers, the common people, and anxious to drop their guns, after the struggle, in order to return to their industrial and peaceful occupations."