Ever since setting Silviane down at her door on the previous day,
Rosemonde had been overflowing with admiration for her.

"Oh! you won't find a single remaining seat, madame," declared Chaigneux,
putting on an air of importance. "We have distributed everything. I have
just been offered three hundred francs for a stall."

"That's true, there has been a fight even for the bracket seats, however
badly they might be placed," Duthil resumed. "I am very sorry, but you
must not count on me. . . . Duvillard is the only person who might take
you in his box. He told me that he would reserve me a seat there. And so
far, I think, there are only three of us, including his son. . . . Ask
Hyacinthe by-and-by to procure you an invitation."

Rosemonde, whom Hyacinthe had so greatly bored that she had given him his
dismissal, felt the irony of Duthil's suggestion. Nevertheless, she
exclaimed with an air of delight: "Ah, yes! Hyacinthe can't refuse me
that. Thanks for your information, my dear Duthil. You are very nice, you
are; for you settle things gaily even when they are rather sad. . . . And
don't forget, mind, that you have promised to teach me politics. Ah!
politics, my dear fellow, I feel that nothing will ever impassion me as
politics do!"

Then she left them, hustled several people, and in spite of the crush
ended by installing herself in the front row.

"Ah! what a crank she is!" muttered Massot with an air of amusement.

Then, as Chaigneux darted towards magistrate Amadieu to ask him in the
most obsequious way if he had received his ticket, the journalist said to