After a short time Ribeyre got up.
"Good-bye till tomorrow, you people. My salaams, Clotilde. You must come with me, Vignerte, and see me home."
Outside he took my arm.
"I'm going to the office. There are some letters of the old man's to send off. Come with me."
The Rue Royale was a blaze of light. Women swathed in long silk cloaks stepped from cars at restaurant doors. The sight of this world of luxury intoxicated me, urged me, drove me to try and extract some material advantage from my chance meeting with Ribeyre. I felt he was only too anxious to dazzle me with his new glory. Who knows, perhaps I should end by getting something out of his desire to parade his power. What can't be got from human vanity!
What about my own vanity, when I ascended the steps of the Foreign Office at his side? A tall lackey took us up in the lift—another received us on the first floor.
"Any telephone messages, Fabien?"
"Yes, sir, one from the Minister of Commerce. He is dining with the Minister tomorrow, and says they will meet at the Chamber. I took the message down in writing."
A minute later we were in a charming little grey and gold room. Ribeyre tapped the desk.
"Vergennes' table," he said casually. "Excuse me," he added, sitting down. He began to open letters, marking them with a red pencil as he did so. "Don't mind about talking. This isn't a very exacting job. Tell me what you are doing. How far have you got with the University?"