"They must be inflammable stuff like bolting-cloth, muslin or gauze," Gildas thought to himself, "and yet they are heavy as lead—another puzzling thing!"
"My dear friend," Lebrenn said to his wife, "I have matters to talk over with you. Shall we go up to your room with the children, while Jeanike sets the table? It is getting late. You, Gildas, may put up the shutters. We shall have but few customers this afternoon."
"Close up the shop! Oh, monsieur, I think you are very right!" cried Gildas delightedly. "I thought so long ago."
And as he ran to execute the orders of his employer, the latter said to him:
"Stop a moment, Gildas. Do not close the front door. I expect several people to call for me. If they come take them to the rear room and notify me."
"Yes, monsieur," answered Gildas with a sigh, seeing he would have preferred to see the shop closed tight, and the door protected with its good strong iron bars, and bolted from within.
"And now, my dear," Lebrenn proceeded to say to his wife, "we shall go up to your room."
It was by this time almost dark. The merchant's family mounted to the first floor, and gathered in Madam Lebrenn's bedroom. The merchant then addressed his wife in a grave voice:
"My dear Henory, we are on the eve of great events."
"I believe it, my friend," answered Madam Lebrenn thoughtfully.