"I was waiting for that strain," said Madame Marsy to Guy, "now that it is over, I will go."
Vaudrey did not reply, awaiting Sabine's departure, so as to conduct her to her carriage.
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.
"Good-bye," said Lissac to Vaudrey.