"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. CHAPTER III. 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. Astonished, almost speechless at the unexpected visit, George Duchene waited in silence for Lebrenn to speak. The latter said: "Monsieur George, about six months ago you were assigned by your employer to attend to some repairs in my shop. I was very much pleased with your intelligence and skill." "You proved as much to me, monsieur, by your kindness." "You were entitled to it. I noticed that you were industrious, and anxious to learn. I was aware, besides, as all our neighbors are, of your worthy conduct towards your grandfather, who occupies these lodgings for the last fifteen years." "Monsieur," remarked George, not a little embarrassed by these praises, "my conduct--" "Is perfectly simple, is it not? Very well. Your job in my shop kept you three months. Very well pleased with our relations to each other, I said to you, and did so in all frankness: 'Monsieur George, we are neighbors; call and see me, either Sundays, or any other day after your work hours; I shall be pleased, very pleased.'" "Indeed, monsieur, you said so." "And yet, Monsieur George, you never set your foot in my house." "I beg you, monsieur, do not attribute my reserve to either ingratitude or forgetfulness." "What, then, should I attribute it to?" "Monsieur--" "Come, Monsieur George, be frank--you love my daughter." The young man trembled from head to foot. His color left his cheeks, paleness and blushes alternated with each other. Finally he answered Lebrenn with a tremulous and moved voice: "It is true, monsieur. I love mademoiselle, your daughter."