"Yes."
"Often have I heard Monsieur Lebrenn mention the name of that family as if he had some cause of complaint against them, and say, whenever he referred to some wicked man: He must be a son of Plouernel!' as one would say: 'He must be a son of the devil!'"
"That is a puzzle—a puzzling house this is," remarked Gildas meditatively, and even in a tone of uneasiness. "To think of Monsieur Lebrenn having complaint against the family of a red monk, who has been dead eight or nine hundred years. All the same, Jeanike, I hope the story may stand you in good stead."
"Go to, Gildas!" exclaimed Jeanike, laughing. "Do you imagine there are any red monks in St. Denis Street, and that they carry off young girls in omnibuses?"
As Jeanike was saying this, a valet in morning livery stepped into the shop and asked for Monsieur Lebrenn.
"He is not in," said Gildas.
"Then, my good lad," answered the valet, "you will please tell your master that the colonel expects to see him this morning, before noon, to settle with him a matter about some linen that he spoke about with your mistress yesterday. Here is my master's address," added the valet, placing a visiting card upon the counter. "Above all be certain to urge your master to be punctual. The colonel does not like to be kept waiting."
The valet left. Gildas took up the card mechanically, read it and cried out, turning pale:
"By St. Anne of Auray! It is incredible—"
"What is it, Gildas?"