Meanwhile near the hearth, in their accustomed places, the old friends of the count’s mother were taking refuge. They felt out of their element—they were dazzled and they formed a little group amid the slowly invading mob. Mme du Joncquoy, unable to recognize the various rooms, had come in through the dining saloon. Mme Chantereau was gazing with a stupefied expression at the garden, which struck her as immense. Presently there was a sound of low voices, and the corner gave vent to all sorts of bitter reflections. “I declare,” murmured Mme Chantereau, “just fancy if the countess were to return to life. Why, can you not imagine her coming in among all these crowds of people! And then there’s all this gilding and this uproar! It’s scandalous!” “Sabine’s out of her senses,” replied Mme du Joncquoy. “Did you see her at the door? Look, you can catch sight of her here; she’s wearing all her diamonds.” For a moment or two they stood up in order to take a distant view of the count and countess. Sabine was in a white dress trimmed with marvelous English point lace. She was triumphant in beauty; she looked young and gay, and there was a touch of intoxication in her continual smile. Beside her stood Muffat, looking aged and a little pale, but he, too, was smiling in his calm and worthy fashion. “And just to think that he was once master,” continued Mme Chantereau, “and that not a single rout seat would have come in without his permission! Ah well, she’s changed all that; it’s her house now. D’you remember when she did not want to do her drawing room up again? She’s done up the entire house.” But the ladies grew silent, for Mme de Chezelles was entering the room, followed by a band of young men. She was going into ecstasies and marking her approval with a succession of little exclamations. “Oh, it’s delicious, exquisite! What taste!” And she shouted back to her followers: “Didn’t I say so? There’s nothing equal to these old places when one takes them in hand. They become dazzling! It’s quite in the grand seventeenth-century style. Well, NOW she can receive.” The two old ladies had again sat down and with lowered tones began talking about the marriage, which was causing astonishment to a good many people. Estelle had just passed by them. She was in a pink silk gown and was as pale, flat, silent and virginal as ever. She had accepted Daguenet very quietly and now evinced neither joy nor sadness, for she was still as cold and white as on those winter evenings when she used to put logs on the fire. This whole fête given in her honor, these lights and flowers and tunes, left her quite unmoved. “An adventurer,” Mme du Joncquoy was saying. “For my part, I’ve never seen him.” “Take care, here he is,” whispered Mme Chantereau. Daguenet, who had caught sight of Mme Hugon and her sons, had eagerly offered her his arm. He laughed and was effusively affectionate toward her, as though she had had a hand in his sudden good fortune.