The Count then pointed to his battered casque which lay on top of his uniform, that had been torn in several places during the struggle, and said to Monsieur Lebrenn:
"Monsieur, I request you to keep my casque, in default of my sword, which I would have preferred to leave with you as a souvenir from a soldier whose life you generously saved—as a token of gratitude."
"I accept it, monsieur," answered the linendraper. "I shall join the casque to several other souvenirs which have come down to me from your family."
"From my family!" exclaimed the Count of Plouernel in amazement. "From my family! Do you know my family?"
"Alas, monsieur," answered the merchant in melancholy tones, "this was not the first time that, in the course of the centuries, a Neroweg of Plouernel and a Lebrenn met, arms in hand."
"What is that you say, monsieur?" asked the Count with increasing wonderment. "I pray you, explain yourself."
Two raps at the door interrupted the conversation of Monsieur Lebrenn and his guest.
"Who is there?" demanded the merchant.
"I, father."
"Walk in, my boy!"