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

"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 to obtain my furlough, so that I could go to the country and plant my cabbages. That's what I was after. And you, old boy, what were you after?"

"I am after the Republic that will guarantee work, and will furnish bread 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, to whom to be out of work is like death. Ah! And was it for that that you fought, 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 my leg – but, at least you are not to be blamed."

"How the devil could I help it! Do we ever know why we fall into one another'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 any particular 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 in the collar; the smell of gunpowder intoxicates you; and then you begin to 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 you are at guns' length. But the moment you come to close quarters, to a bayonet charge, and you can see the white of each others' eyes, then the compliments exchanged are: 'Take this!' 'Take that!' and yet one feels a weakness 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 common people, like themselves? Have I not relatives and friends among the common people? I wager a hundred to one that I should be of their opinion, that I should fall in line with them, instead of charging upon them' – "

"That's so true, my old man, that I'm as much for the Republic as yourself, if it can furnish work to my poor brother."

"And that's why I repeat, sergeant, that there is nothing so stupid as for people to shoot holes into one another, without, at least, knowing the why and the wherefore."

Saying this father Bribri drew out of his pocket his old snuff-box of white 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 my head."

"Tell me, sergeant," remarked father Bribri laughing, "have you perhaps a 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 his mattress-fellow a friendly tap on the shoulder and laughing heartily at the opportune refrain. He took a pinch of snuff, and after absorbing and relishing 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 the Civitte, 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 poor wife must be feeling frightfully uneasy."

"Yes, she is an excellent woman. If my wound is not fatal, old man, you must come to my house and take a bowl of soup with us. Ho! Ho! We shall chat about St. Denis Street while nibbling a crust."

"You are very kind, sergeant. Neither is that to be refused. And seeing that I do not keep house, you and your wife must return the visit by coming 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 been kept closed. The linendraper looked pale; there were tears in his eyes. He said to his wife, whom he found busy attending one of the wounded men:

"Will you come in a minute, my dear friend?"

Madam Lebrenn joined her husband, and the door of the rear room closed behind them. There a sad spectacle presented itself to the eyes of the merchant's wife.

Pradeline lay stretched out upon a sofa. The girl was in her death agony. George Duchene, with his arm in a sling, was on his knees beside her, urging her to take some of the wine and water in a cup that he held up 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 broken voice:

"Madam – I asked to see you – before I die – in order to tell you – the truth about George. I was an orphan; I worked at flower-making. I had suffered a good deal – underwent untold privations – but still I kept my character. I should also say, so as not to praise myself too highly, I had never been tempted," she added with a bitter sigh; and then she smiled: "I met George upon his return from the army – I fell in love with him – I loved him – Oh! I loved him dearly – let that pass – he was the only one – perhaps it was because he never became my lover. I am sure I loved him more than he loved me. He was better than I – it was out of kindness that he offered to marry me. Unfortunately, a girl friend crossed my way and led me astray. She had been a working girl, like myself – and misery had driven her to sell herself! I saw her rich, well dressed – well fed – she urged me to do as she had done – my head turned – I forgot George – but not for long – but for nothing in the world would I have dared to appear before him again. Occasionally, nevertheless, I would come to this street – seeking to catch a glimpse of him. I saw him more than once at work in your shop, madam – and talking to your daughter, 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. I watched him – more than once, recently, I saw him early in the morning at his window – looking across the street at yours. Yesterday morning I was with someone – "

A feeble blush of shame colored for an instant the pallid cheeks of the dying girl. She dropped her eyes, and presently proceeded in a voice that was fast sinking:

"There – accidentally – I learned that that person – found your daughter – very beautiful, and – knowing that that person is utterly – reckless of consequences – I feared for your daughter and for George – I tried – yesterday – to notify him – he was not at home; I wrote to him – asking to see him, without stating my reasons – This morning – I went out – without knowing – that there – were barricades – and – "

The young girl could not finish; her head fell back; mechanically she raised both her hands to the wound on her bosom, heaved a sigh of profound grief, and stammered a few unintelligible words. Monsieur and Madam Lebrenn wept in silence as they contemplated her.

"Josephine," said George, "do you suffer much?" And covering his eyes with his hands he added: "This mortal wound – was received by her in the attempt to save my life!"

"George – George," muttered the dying girl almost inaudibly, as her eyes roved 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 Pradeline," 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 drooped upon her shoulder. She was dead.

That instant, Gildas opened the door that communicated with a back staircase leading to the upper story, and said to the merchant: