When he heard this, he held out his hand, a smile illuminating his austere visage. “Take that, boy,” said he. “If you are an apprentice, I am a master; and here are two lads, about your age, who live with me, to learn their trade. If you have nothing better to do, come and sup with me to-night—you shall be made welcome.” I shook hands with him, and accepted his kind offer. The French, at the dawn of the Revolution, were a nation of brothers. As the clock struck five, we threw down our tools, gave ourselves a wash in the Seine; after which we crossed over to the other side of the river, and entered the Rue St. Honoré. The master and I had walked side by side all the way, the two apprentices following behind. He asked me some questions about our department, what political opinions we had, and whether I knew any one in Paris. I answered all his questions with becoming modesty. My companion stopped at the commencement of the Rue St. Honoré, on the left-hand side, opposite a church, which I discovered later on to be the Church of Assumption. “We have arrived,” said he; “I will go first, to show you the way.” He passed down a passage, at the extremity of which I perceived a light. I involuntarily raised my head, and read on the façade of the house these three words: “DUPLAY, Master Carpenter.” I entered—the apprentices followed me. CHAPTER XIV. MY NEW PARISIAN FRIENDS. The carpenter, Duplay, in contact with whom fortune had brought me, had, at that period—that is to say, on the 12th of July, 1790,—the celebrity of having given shelter to a notorious revolutionist, which celebrity afterwards was attached to his name, his family, and his house. He was a good patriot, and attended constantly at the Jacobin Club which was held in the neighborhood, and where almost all his evenings were passed, applauding the speeches of a little advocate of Arras, who, though ridiculed in the National Assembly, was appreciated in the Rue St. Honoré. The name of this little advocate was Robespierre. When we arrived, we found the table laid for supper, through the forethought of his two daughters, Estelle and Cornelie. Their old grandmother was seated in an arm-chair, and Madame Duplay was in the kitchen, devoting all her attention to the forthcoming meal. I was introduced to the two young ladies, both very charming girls. Estelle was a blonde, with beautiful blue eyes, and a figure wonderfully symmetrical, and flexible as a reed. Cornelie was a brunette, with eyes black as sloes, and a stately and majestic contour. Estelle dropped her eyes, as she curtseyed. Cornelie smiled, and looked me full in the face. Neither, however, paid much attention to me after the first salutation. I was younger than the youngest of them—that is to say, in their eyes, almost a child. As to the apprentices, one appeared to be about eighteen, and the other a month or two older than I.