Fromont and his wife entered their carriage behind them. Only the Risler
and Chebe party remained, and the festivity at once changed its aspect,
becoming more uproarious.

The illustrious Delobelle, disgusted to see that no one called upon him
for anything, decided to call upon himself for something, and began in a
voice as resonant as a gong the monologue from Ruy Blas: "Good appetite,
Messieurs!" while the guests thronged to the buffet, spread with
chocolate and glasses of punch. Inexpensive little costumes were
displayed upon the benches, overjoyed to produce their due effect
at last; and here and there divers young shop-clerks, consumed with
conceit, amused themselves by venturing upon a quadrille.

The bride had long wished to take her leave. At last she disappeared
with Risler and Madame Chebe. As for Monsieur Chebe, who had recovered
all his importance, it was impossible to induce him to go. Some one
must be there to do the honors, deuce take it! And I assure you that
the little man assumed the responsibility! He was flushed, lively,
frolicsome, noisy, almost seditious. On the floor below he could
be heard talking politics with Vefour's headwaiter, and making most
audacious statements.

Through the deserted streets the wedding-carriage, the tired coachman
holding the white reins somewhat loosely, rolled heavily toward the
Marais.

Madame Chebe talked continuously, enumerating all the splendors of that
memorable day, rhapsodizing especially over the dinner, the commonplace
menu of which had been to her the highest display of magnificence.
Sidonie mused in the darkness of the carriage, and Risler, sitting
opposite her, even though he no longer said, "I am very happy,"
continued to think it with all his heart. Once he tried to take
possession of a little white hand that rested against the closed window,
but it was hastily withdrawn, and he sat there without moving, lost in
mute admiration.

They drove through the Halles and the Rue de Rambuteau, thronged
with kitchen-gardeners' wagons; and, near the end of the Rue des
Francs-Bourgeois, they turned the corner of the Archives into the Rue de
Braque. There they stopped first, and Madame Chebe alighted at her door,
which was too narrow for the magnificent green silk frock, so that it
vanished in the hall with rustlings of revolt and with all its folds
muttering. A few minutes later, a tall, massive portal on the Rue des
Vieilles-Haudriettes, bearing on the escut