"Monsieur George, I place implicit confidence in your word. I have tested you. Swear to me that you do not belong to any secret society. I will believe you, and you shall be my son-in-law—or, rather, my own son," added Lebrenn, reaching out his hand to George, "seeing that since I became acquainted with you and learned to esteem you, I ever felt for you, I repeat it, as much interest as sympathy."
The merchant's praises, together with the cordiality of his manner, intensified the severity of the blow that smote the hopes of George. He, hitherto so determined and energetic, felt himself weakening. He covered his face in his hands, and could not restrain his tears.
Lebrenn contemplated him with commiseration. In a moved voice he addressed the young man:
"I am awaiting your oath, Monsieur George."
The young man turned his head aside to wipe away his tears. He then faced the father of his beloved and said:
"I can not, monsieur, give you the oath that you request."
"Then—your marriage to my daughter—"
"I must renounce it, monsieur," answered George painfully.
"Accordingly, Monsieur George," resumed the merchant, "you admit that you belong to a secret society?"
The young man's silence was his only reply.