The good thing, he considered, about having ones door permanently open was that one could hear all the talk from the corridor, every opening and closing of every door. And so by the time young Augustine Laurent arrived at the door of the Ambassador's office, Léon had slipped back into the long back jacket, the red, blue and white cockade pinned on his chest, pride of place. It would not have been appropriate to meet the young man so casually dressed.
He had also picked up a report, turned to one of the central pages, and appeared to be reading it as the footman knocked on the door. He set it down and offered a nod, getting to his feet, "I've been expecting you, Monsieur Laurent. I was glad to hear that one true citizen of France was produced by your family." He said, offering his hand, "I am afraid the Commitee of Public Safety did not tell me of your official capacity here, if you have one?" He said, then gesturing the man into a comfortable looking chair.