I remembered me of one of the two master workmen who had priced my carpentry work for M. Drouet; and who said that if I had no work to do, and would accept it of him, he could always find me plenty.
His name was Father Gerbaut.
I asked his address. He lived in the Rue de la Basse Cour. The houses were not numbered at that period. On the left, descending to the Place Latry, next door to a large grocer’s, his house was situated.
I called. He was out; but expected home every moment.
I was received by his daughter, a charming girl, a little younger than myself—that is to say, about sixteen or seventeen years of age.
She asked me to wait till her father returned, or to give her my name if I feared becoming weary of staying with her.
Of course, I rejected with scorn the idea that any one could become wearied in the presence of one so gracious and charming.
It was the first time in my life that I had ever addressed a compliment to a female.
Indeed, it was the first time that I had been in conversation with a girl at all.
Up to this time, I had scarcely given women a moment’s consideration.