"I will tell you presently, Brenon, when we get inside. I am glad that you are able to take the horses in. We don't want to be stared at, or talked about. We have come along the river bank and, so far, we have been quite unnoticed."
"All the better, all the better; to be noticed here means to have one's head cut off. Now, I will take you to a little room upstairs, where there is no chance of anyone seeing you."
"Get us up, if you can, without our being noticed by your servants, Brenon. We shall be differently dressed when we come down again."
The man nodded.
"The boy is in the front room," he said. "There are three or four fishermen there, having their morning glass. I have no other servants. My wife does what is needful, for I was obliged to discharge the girl we had, everything has been so slack of late."
He led them up to a chamber looking on to the quay. Jean was puzzled at the man's manner, for he spoke in a confused and hesitating way. When he closed the door behind him, he stood rubbing his hands together nervously.
"Have you heard lately from Nantes, Monsieur Jean?"
"No, it is five weeks since I had any news; except, of course, what was known about the troops that were here. What is it, old friend? Is there bad news?"
"There is terrible news," Brenon said, "so bad that I don't know how to tell you."
"Speak out, old friend. I have had one blow so heavy that I can scarcely be hurt more than I am."