ke Sabine should wish to meet him and offer him her
congratulations, as he himself, without knowing her, should desire to
listen to her felicitations. To speak in complimentary terms was as
natural to him as to listen to the compliments of others.

He delighted in the atmosphere of adulation which surrounded him, these
two pretty women who smiled upon him with a gratitude so impressive,
pleased him. Sabine appeared especially charming to him when, speaking
with the captivating grace of a Parisian, she said:

"I hardly know how to thank my friend Monsieur de Lissac for inducing
you to listen to the entreaties of one who solicits--"

"Solicits, madame?" said the minister with an eagerness which seemed
already to answer her prayer affirmatively.

"I hope your Excellency will consent to honor with your presence a
reunion of friends at my house--a reunion somewhat trivial, for this
occasion, but clever enough."

"A reunion?" replied Vaudrey, still smiling.

"Monsieur de Lissac has not told you then, what my hopes are?"

"We are too old friends, Lissac and I, for him not to allow me the
pleasure of hearing from your own lips, madame, in what way I may be of
service to you, or to any of your friends."

Sabine smiled at this well-turned phrase uttered in the most gallant
tone.

Who then, could have told her that Vaudrey was a provincial? An intimate
enemy or an intimate friend. But he was not at all provincial. On the
contrary, Vaudrey was quite charming.

"Monsieur de Rosas has had the kindness, your Excellency, to promise to
come to my house next Saturday and give a chatty account of his travels.
He will be, I am quite sure, most proud to know that in his audience--"

Sulpice neatly and half modestly turned aside the compliment that was
approaching.

He knew Monsieur de Rosas. He had read and greatly admired some
translations of the Persian poets by that lettered nobleman, which had
been printed for circulation only amongst the author's most intimate
friends. Vaudrey had first met Monsieur de Rosas at a meeting of a
scientific society. Rosas was an eminent man as well as a poet, and one
whom he would be greatly pleased to meet again. A hero of romance as
erudite as a Benedictine. Charming, too, and clever! Something like a
Cid who has become a boulevard lounger on returning from Central Asia.

This portrait of Rosas was a clever one indeed, and Sabine nodded
acquiescence again and again as each point was hit of