It was a handsome house, not far from the quays. The lower portion was evidently occupied by the offices. As a servant opened the door, Leigh, seeing that his sister hesitated to speak, inquired if Monsieur Flambard was at home.
"He is," the man said shortly, "but he does not see people on business after the office is closed."
Leigh saw that his dress, as a sailor, did not impress the man.
"I think he will see us," he said, "if you take the name up to him. Will you tell him that Citoyenne Martin wishes to speak to him."
A minute later the merchant himself, a handsome man of about the same age as Jean Martin, came down.
"Ah! madame, I am glad indeed to see you," he said; for he had more than once been up to Nantes, during the time she was living there, and had been frequently at the house. "I have been in great anxiety about you."
"Has Jean been here?" she asked, in a tone of intense anxiety.
"No, madame, I have heard nothing of him for many months; not, indeed, since his lugger first came down here, with his letter and the deed of her sale to myself. Did you expect to find him here?"
"I hoped so, although there was no arrangement between us to meet here. Still, I thought that he would have made his way down here, if possible, as he would then be able to escape in the lugger."
"He may have found it more difficult than he thought," Monsieur Flambard said, soothingly. "But do not let us be standing here. Pray, come up. My wife will be glad to welcome you, for she has often heard me speak of Martin's English wife."