by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER XII.
REUNITED FROM THE BASTILLE.
While advocate Desmarais was whelming his daughter with reproaches onthe score of her love for John Lebrenn, the latter was at his mother'sknee in their modest lodgings on the fourth floor of the old house inSt. Honore Street. In the larger of the two rooms composing the family'sapartments, were to be seen two beds. One had never been occupied foryears, since the day Ronan Lebrenn disappeared without a soul knowingwhat had become of him. The room also contained a sort of littlebookshelf garnished with books printed with his own hand, a portableworkbench at which John in the evenings finished up pieces belonging tohis ironsmith's trade, tools, some little furniture, and a buffet ofwalnut-wood in which reposed the relics and legends of the family.
Madam, or Mother, Lebrenn, as she was called in the neighborhood, wasnearly sixty years of age. Domestic griefs, rather than years, hadenfeebled and ruined her health. Her venerable countenance was of anextreme pallor, and sadly sunken. The poor woman held in her hands thehead of her son, kneeling before her. The aged mother stroked it severaltimes, saying in a voice thrilled with emotion:
"Dear boy, you have come back to me at last. I can now reassure myselfon the state of your wound. Helas! how great was my anguish during allthe time of that frightful combat. The little note you sent me after thetaking of the Bastille indeed calmed a little my terrors for you, butwithout stilling them completely. I feared lest, out of tenderness, yousought to deceive me as to the gravity of your hurt. Now I am coming tomyself from my fears, and yet I still must hold you in my arms. Dear andonly child whom God has left to a poor widow--how sweet it is for amother to embrace her son!"
"Come, good mother, I see your spirit is still troubled by the pangs ofthis morning. But are you quite sure you are a widow? Am I truly youronly child?"
"Helas! have not your father and sister both disappeared? Are they notlost forever to your poor mother?"
"But why should they not return to us some day?"
"Dear boy, if they lived, your father and sister whom you love so much,would we not have heard some news of them, even if it were impossiblefor them to come to us?"
"You are right, good mother. But you presume that it would have beenpossible for them to have sent us some intelligence of their fate. Maywe not suppose, though, that father was thrown into some state prison,and that he was deprived of all communication with the outside? So sad asupposition has nothing strange in it."
"In that case, my child, the prison would have proven your father'stomb, so frail was his health. We could not dare to hope that he wouldbe able to surmount the rigors of his captivity."
"But it might also be, good mother, that the hope of seeing us some daymay have helped him to endure his sufferings."
"Do not essay, dear boy, to raise in my heart hopes, which, deceived toosoon, will but plunge me back again into despair. My dear husband isindeed lost to me, helas! As to your sister, we may well believe weshall never see her more. She also is lost to us. Without doubt she hassought in death a refuge from her anguish, since the fatal revelation ofher earlier life to her fiance, Sergeant Maurice."
"Nothing has come to light so far to confirm your apprehensions on thesubject of these afflictions--dear, good mother--"
"If my poor girl is not dead--what can have been her lot? I shudder evento think of it--misery, or dishonor!"
"I do not wish, good mother, to hold out to you hopes, which, whendeceived, will revive your sorrow and seriously compromise your health,perhaps your life. But I believe I can without danger accustom you tothe idea that my sister still lives, and has not ceased to be worthy ofyour affection; and also that father, after having languished long yearsin a prison pit, may still recover his liberty, and that we may seehim.--That is a hope in my heart which I would cause you to share.Follow well my reasoning--"
"'Twould be too much happiness for me--I cannot believe it. And if Icould believe it, I ask myself whether I have the strength to bear somuch joy. Rapture can kill, as well as grief, my dear son."
"And so, dear mother, if such events are to be told, I shall haverecourse to roundabout methods to make you acquainted with suchunhoped-for news. If it were about father--for example--I would say,that the victorious people penetrated into the Bastille to deliver thepersons thrown into the dungeons, and that, among them, we found one whoresembled father; that we seized the prison registrars and made themsearch in their registers for the records of a prisoner who was verydear to me, as it might have chanced that my father was among thenumber; that, in one of these registers, I read the date, 'April 22,1783,' and right after it, 'No. 1297--incarcerated--upper tier--cell No.18.'"
"April 22, 1783," repeated Madam Lebrenn pensively. "That is the dayafter your father disappeared."
"I would tell you that beside the date there was no name given for theprisoner, it being the usage to replace the name with a number. I wouldadd, that, struck by the singular coincidence between the date and thetime of father's disappearance, I went down to visit cell No. 18, as wasindicated in the register--"
"And then?" exclaimed Madam Lebrenn feverishly, and with growinganxiety.
"The cell was empty. But they told me that the prisoner who occupied itwas an old man grown blind, alas, during his confinement. I asked wherethey had taken the unfortunate man, and dashed off to seek him. Isn'tthis all interesting, mother?"
"Why do you break off your story? For I feel that your supposings arebut preparations for some revelation that you are about to make. Youlook away from me--John, my boy, my dear boy!" cried Madam Lebrenn,reaching towards her son and making him turn his face up to her--"Youweep! No more doubt of it--Lord God! the old man--was--he was--"
She could not finish. The word died on her lips, and she nearly swoonedaway. John, still kneeling before her, sustained her in his arms,saying: "Courage, good mother. Hear the end of my tale."
"Courage, say you? But you are deceiving me, then? It was not then--yourfather?"
"It was he! 'Twas indeed he whom I held in my arms. He lived--you shallsee him soon. But, poor dear mother, have courage. We are not yet at theend of our trials."
"Since your father lives, courage is easy to me! Let them bring him tous quick!"
"Alas, you forget that in his dungeon father lost his sight. Besides,the weight of his irons, the humidity of his cell, have palsied, haveparalyzed his limbs. He can hardly drag himself along."
"But he lives! Ah, well! His infirmities will render him more dear tous," cried Madam Lebrenn in lofty exaltation, and suddenly rising. "Letus go to meet him."
"One moment, good mother. They are bringing him to us. But I have stillto prepare you for another piece of good fortune. You know the proverb,good mother, 'Good fortune never comes singly.' But, first, I want toacquaint you with the person who broke open father's cell, who freed himfrom his irons, and who bestowed upon him the simple cares that he longneeded."
"Tell me, dear son, who was your father's liberator?"
"His liberator was a woman--an intrepid, heroic woman, who during theassault of the Bastille braved the fire of musketry and cannon and ledthe attackers, red flag in hand. Under a perfect hail of bullets shelet down the drawbridge across one of the moats of the fortress, and wasthe first to run to the dungeons to free the prisoners. It was she whorescued father from his living grave."
"Blessed be that woman! I shall cherish her as a daughter!"
"That heroic woman, who is truly worthy of your love--is Victoria! Isthat enough happiness for us? Father and sister, both have come home toyour caresses. They are there, close to us, at our neighbor Jerome's,and await but the pre-arranged signal to come in."
And John Lebrenn, joining the action to the words, struck three blows onthe wall.
The door flew open, and on the sill appeared father Lebrenn, leaning onone side on the arm of Victoria, on the other on that of neighborJerome. Madam Lebrenn, intoxicated with joy, flung herself into the armsof her husband and daughter.