Who then, could have told her that Vaudrey was a provincial? An intimate
enemy or an intimate friend. But he was not at all provincial. On the
contrary, Vaudrey was quite charming.

"Monsieur de Rosas has had the kindness, your Excellency, to promise to
come to my house next Saturday and give a chatty account of his travels.
He will be, I am quite sure, most proud to know that in his audience--"

Sulpice neatly and half modestly turned aside the compliment that was
approaching.

He knew Monsieur de Rosas. He had read and greatly admired some
translations of the Persian poets by that lettered nobleman, which had
been printed for circulation only amongst the author's most intimate
friends. Vaudrey had first met Monsieur de Rosas at a meeting of a
scientific society. Rosas was an eminent man as well as a poet, and one
whom he would be greatly pleased to meet again. A hero of romance as
erudite as a Benedictine. Charming, too, and clever! Something like a
Cid who has become a boulevard lounger on returning from Central Asia.

This portrait of Rosas was a clever one indeed, and Sabine nodded
acquiescence again and again as each point was hit off by Vaudrey. He,
in his turn, basked comfortably in the light of her smiles, and listened
with pleasure to the sound of his own voice. He could catch glimpses
through the box curtains from between these two charming profiles--one a
brunette, the other a blonde--of the vast auditorium all crimson and
gold, blazing with lights and crowded with faces. From this well-dressed
crowd, from these boxes where one caught sight of white gleaming
shoulders, half-gloved arms, flower-decked heads, sparkling necklaces,