have business in or about the harbour. Only at midday the coffee-room
would get full sometimes with people on their way to or from the port.

But in the evenings the place was quite deserted, and so lonely that at
times we fancied that we could hear the wolves howling in the forest of
St. Pierre.

It was close on eight o'clock, and my man was putting up the shutters,
when suddenly we heard the tramp of feet on the road outside, and then
the quick word, "Halt!"

The next moment there was a peremptory knock at the door. My man opened
it, and there stood four men in the uniform of the 9th Regiment of the
Line... the same that is quartered at Calais. The uniform, of course, I
knew well, though I did not know the men by sight.

"In the name of the People and by the order of the Committee of Public
Safety!" said one of the men, who stood in the forefront, and who, I
noticed, had a corporal's stripe on his left sleeve.

He held out a paper, which was covered with seals and with writing, but
as neither my man nor I can read, it was no use our looking at it.

Hercule--that is my husband's name, citizens--asked the corporal what
the Committee of Public Safety wanted with us poor hoteliers of a
wayside inn.

"Only food and shelter for to-night for me and my men," replied the
corporal, quite civilly.