"Pardon," said he, "I did not know monsieur had arrived. I was expecting no one, for the night is shutting down."
Anthony followed him along the passage and into another room; this was larger than the first, but it was snug enough, there being a good fire blazing, and the curtains being drawn to keep out the bleak look of the falling night.
Anthony warmed himself by the fire and examined the host, who was without doubt a Frenchman—a huge, swift man who at once gained the attention.
"I had hoped to reach Wilmington before night overtook me," said Anthony. "But I could not do it; and so I recalled this place."
A quick, bright interest was in the landlord's eye.
"Ah," said he, "monsieur has been here before?"
"No," said Anthony.
"So few come to us from the roads," said the man. "We are out of the track, you see. Our guests are from the river: masters and mates and supercargoes of vessels working up to the city, or bound out to sea, who are at anchor awaiting orders, or repairs, or one of many other things. It was for them, monsieur, that the inn was originally built."
"You have not much patronage when the ice is in the river, I suppose?"
"Ah! then it is a lean time, indeed," complained the host. "There is nothing."