"In that case," said a burgess, who stopped and regarded Maurice with a certain good-nature, not totally exempt from distrust, "you should address yourself to his master."
"That is true," said the door-keeper; "you are quite right, the masters know the names of their workmen; here is Citizen Dixmer, who is manager of a tannery, and has more than fifty workmen in his yard, he can perhaps tell you." Maurice turned round and saw a burgess of commanding figure and mild countenance, the richness of whose attire denoted opulence.
"Only as the citizen porter observes, it is necessary I should know the family name."
"The one I said,—René."
"René is his baptismal name; it is the family name I require. All my workmen sign their family name."
"Upon my word," said Maurice, growing impatient under this species of interrogation, "the family name? I do not know it."
"What," said the burgess, with a smile, in which Maurice thought he discerned more irony than he wished to appear,—"what, not know the surname of your friend!"
"No."
"In that case, it is not probable you will find him," and the burgess, gravely bowing to Maurice, walked a short distance and entered a house in the old Rue Saint Jacques.
"The fact is, that if you do not know his surname," said the porter—