His firm-set lips curled with a smile, and with a bow he responded to these enthusiastic greetings. Presently a running fire of applause arose as a slender pale-faced man with delicate features and an expression of ingenuous good faith appeared. This was Mounier of Grenoble. There passed a man with small face, retreating forehead and sharp eyes, a man with sallow complexion and thin lips, and vivacity and energy depicted in every lineament. No one noticed him on that day, he was an obscure deputy whom none knew--Maximilian Robespierre. Paris was unrepresented, the elections there had been delayed. After the Third Estate, separated from it by trumpeters and drummers, walked the nobility. The moment that they appeared, the cheering, which had been continuous on the passage of the Commons, ceased abruptly. The contrast they presented to the Tiers État was significant. Their dress was black, the vest of cloth of gold, and the coat frogged with gold lace. Their cloaks were of silk, their cravats of lace, and their hats of the shape worn in Henry IV's reign, adorned with plumes. Among the nobility, last, and lagging behind, walked the Duke of Orléans, burly, with bad features, wearing large rings in his ears. Instantly a shout arose, 'Vive le Duc d'Orléans!' which ran along the street and roared from the Place d'Armes. The duke laughed good-naturedly, lifted his feathered hat, bowed to the right and then to the left, and laid his hand on his heart. After the nobles came the curés in their cassocks, short baptismal surplices, and long black cloaks, wearing on their heads the birretta. A few shouts of greeting rose, not many, but some. 'Oh, Madeleine!' exclaimed Madame Deschwanden, 'who can that priest be? Look, do look at him!' She pointed to a slender abbé with a face of great beauty and refinement. The smooth broad brow was massive, the eyes large and soft, like those of an ox; the straight nose rather long, and the lips and chin indicative of extreme sensibility. Some one in the crowd shouted, 'Long live the Abbé Grégoire, the friend of the Jew!' Madame Deschwanden looked round and saw an old man with the features of an Israelite raising his hat above his white head and waving his withered hand towards the priest who had attracted her attention. Percenez, who was close to her, said, 'That curé has in his face the making of a great saint and a great patriot. Long live the Abbé Grégoire!' Then suddenly he exclaimed, 'Ah! there is a friend of the people walking along a little way behind him. Vive le Curé Lindet!'