"I am afraid there won't be any cabs abroad to-night in this part of Paris," Gregory broke in. "Well, we must just take our chance. I thank you very much, monsieur."
"But it is impossible!" the odd little creature said with a tiny shriek. "The hour is already late, gentlemen; the fog, as you say, grows thicker every moment. And, look you, on a night like this there will be all sorts of robbers abroad. It is most unsafe."
Deschamps shrugged his shoulders. "Doubtless," he said, "but there is nothing else for it."
The little man on the other side of the counter peered at them anxiously through his great round spectacles. "But, yes," he said, in a plaintive bleat, "if affairs call you home, monsieur—doubtless madame will be distressed—then, indeed you must go, but——"
Deschamps laughed. "No, we have no business; we have finished our work for the day, and we are not married; still——"
"The matter is settled," said the old gentleman, with a child-like smile. "You will do me the honour of coming into our workshop immediately. We have a fire there, soup, bread, and vin ordinaire are ready, and there is enough for all. My brother will be as pleased as I am to have the honour of offering you hospitality on such a night. No"—he waved his hands in reply to a murmur of protest from Deschamps—"we could not let you go. Stay with us until the morning, and we will do our best to make you comfortable as may be."
Eager, chirping and twittering like an excited bird, the odd, old fellow unlatched a half-door, pushed up the counter-flap and bowed them into the little office. In a moment they had passed through it into a long, narrow room with a high roof which seemed to be of glass.
The place was lit by a huge fire of coal and wood, which glowed in an open hearth, and by the side of it was a small forge. The red light streamed out in a mysterious radiance upon a workshop crowded with tools, long tables, stacks of rare and polished woods, and here and there an unfamiliar machine.
The only other light came from two candles stuck upon a bench in their own grease, and the whole effect was startlingly curious and unexpected. It was as picturesque as some carefully set scene upon the stage, and seemed utterly removed from the modern life of a great city. The red light of the fire left distant corners of the workshop in black, impenetrable shadow, making it seem of vast extent.
Around the fire, however, the half-circle of light it threw out showed everything with great distinctness.