People hurried out into the lobbies to see him pass by. Upon the
staircases, attendants and strangers saluted him. It seemed to Vaudrey
that he moved among those who were in sympathy with him. Lissac followed
him with Madame Gerson on his arm; her jaded husband sighed for a few
hours' sleep.

In the sharp, frosty air of a night in January, Sulpice, enveloped in
otter fur, stood with Madame Marsy on his arm, waiting for the
appearance of that lady's carriage, which was emerging from the luminous
depths of the Place, accompanied by another carriage without a monogram
or crest; it was that of the minister.

Sulpice gazed before him down the Avenue de l'Opéra, brilliant with
light, and the bluish tints of the Jablockoff electric apparatus flooded
him with its bright rays; it seemed to him as if all this brilliancy
blazed for him, like the flattering apotheosis which had just before
fallen upon him as he crossed the stage of the Opéra. It seemed like an
aureole lighted up especially to encircle him!

Sabine asked Vaudrey as he escorted her to her carriage:

"Madame Vaudrey will, I trust, do me the honor to accompany your
Excellency to my house? I will take the liberty to-morrow of calling on
her to invite her."

The Minister bowed a gracious acquiescence.

Sabine finally thanked him by a gracious smile: her small gloved hand
raised the window of the coupé, and the carriage was driven off rapidly,
amid the din of horses' hoofs.