"While I was at work, Monsieur Lebrenn, who is the best man I know, used to chat with me. He would talk about the history of our fathers, of which I knew as little as you. Once my curiosity was pricked--and it was not slight--"
"I put a thousand questions to Monsieur Lebrenn, all the while hammering and joining. He answered me with truly paternal kindness. In that way I came to know the little that I have told you. But," added George with a sigh that he was unable to suppress, "my job being done, the history lessons were interrupted. Accordingly, I have told you all I know, grandfather."
"So, then, the linendraper who lives opposite is as learned as all that?"
"He is as learned as he is a true patriot. He is an _old Gaul_, as he loves to style himself. And sometimes," added George, unable to avoid blushing slightly, "I heard him say to his daughter, as he proudly embraced her on account of some clever answer or other that she made, 'Oh, as to you--you are a true Gallic girl!'"
At this moment father Morin and George heard someone rapping at the door of the first chamber.
Someone stepped into the front room that connected with the one occupied by the old man.
"What! The worthy linendraper that we have been speaking about? The _old Gaul_?" whispered the venerable grandfather. "Go quick and see what he wants, my boy, and shut the door after you."
As much embarrassed as surprised at this visit, George stepped out of his grandfather's room, and found himself facing Marik Lebrenn.
Marik Lebrenn was a man of about fifty years of age, although looking rather younger. His high stature; his nervy, muscular neck, arms and shoulders; the proud and resolute carriage of his head; his open and strikingly strong countenance; his sea-blue eyes with their firm and penetrating glance; his thick, heavy and light auburn hair, slightly streaked with grey and starting rather low upon a forehead that seemed to partake of the hardness of marble;--all these features betrayed the characteristic type of the Breton race, among which the Gallic tongue and blood have pre-eminently preserved themselves unalloyed down to our own days. Upon the ruddy and thick lips of Monsieur Lebrenn sat a perpetual smile that one time betokened kindheartedness, other times bore the impress of that wit and satire, which our old books term _salty_, when they describe the racy jokes, or the old Gallic character, that ever is inclined to teasing. I shall close the description of the merchant, by clothing him in a large olive overcoat and trousers of a grey material.