He felt a sudden desire to return to her, to tell her of the incidents of this evening.  Yes, to tell her everything, even to his visit behind the scenes—­but he remained where he was, not knowing how to take leave of Madame Marsy just yet, and she, in her turn, divined from the slackened conversation that he was anxious to be off.

“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’Opera, 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 Opera.  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 coupe, and the carriage was driven off rapidly, amid the din of horses’ hoofs.

“Good-bye,” said Lissac to Vaudrey.

“Cannot I offer you a seat in my carriage?”

“Thank you, but I am not two steps away from the Rue d’Aumale.”

Vaudrey turned towards Madame Gerson; she and her husband bowed low.

“May I not set you down at your house, madame?”

“Your Excellency is very kind, but we have our own carriage!”

“Au revoir,” said Vaudrey to Lissac, “come and breakfast with me to-morrow.”

“With pleasure!”

“To the ministry!” said Vaudrey to the coachman as he stepped into his carriage.

He sank back upon the cushions with a feeling of delight as if glad to be alone.  All the scenes of that evening floated again before his eyes.  He felt once more in his nostrils the subtle, penetrating perfume of the greenroom, he saw again the blue eyes of the little danseuse.  The admiring looks, the respectful salutes, the smiles of the women, the soft, caressing tones of Sabine, and Madame Gerson’s pearly teeth, he saw or heard all these again, and above all, this word clear as a clarion, triumphant as a trumpet’s blast:  Success! All this came back again to him.