Transient sailors with bare arms and open shirts sat in the kitchen of the inn, drinking to pass away the time.
"At what time is the post due here in Auray ?" "That depends; usually at ten o'clock," replied the innkeeper.
"No, at eleven," put in a man.
"At twelve," said M.de Rohan.
"At one." "At half-past one." "Sometimes it doesn't reach here until two o'clock." "It isn't very regular!" We were aware of that; it was already three.

We could not start before the arrival of this ill-fated messenger, which brings Belle-Isle the despatches from _terra firma_, so we had to resign ourselves.

Once in a while some one would get up, go to the door, look out, come back, and start up again.

Oh! he will not come to-day .-- He must have stopped on the way .-- Let's go home .-- No, let's wait for him .-- If, however, you are tired of waiting gentlemen....

After all, there may not be any letters....