At length the performance came to a close, and M. Delaroche, having taken upon himself to arrange Madame de Marignan's cloak, carry Madame de Marignan's fan, and put Madame de Marignan's opera-glass into its morocco case, completed his officiousness by offering his arm and conducting her into the lobby, whilst I, outwardly indifferent but inwardly boiling, dropped behind, and consigned him silently to all the torments of the seven circles. It was an oppressive autumnal night without a star in the sky, and so still that one might have carried a lighted taper through the streets. Finding it thus warm, Madame de Marignan proposed walking down the line of carriages, instead of waiting till her own came up; and so she and M. Delaroche led the way and I followed. Having found the carriage, he assisted her in, placed her fan and bouquet on the opposite seat, lingered a moment at the open door, and had the unparalleled audacity to raise her hand to his lips at parting. As for me, I stood proudly back, and lifted my hat. "_Comment_!" she said, holding out her hand--the pretty, ungloved hand that had just been kissed--"is that your good night?" I bowed over the hand, I would not have touched it with my lips at that moment for all the wealth of Paris. "You are coming to me to-morrow morning at twelve?" she murmured tenderly. "If Madame desires it." "Of course I desire it. I am going to Auteuil, to look at a house for a friend--and to Pignot's for some flowers--and to Lubin's for some scent--and to a host of places. What should I do without you? Nay, why that grave face? Have I done anything to offend you?" "Madame, I--I confess that--" "That you are jealous of that absurd Delaroche, who is so much in love with himself that he has no place in his heart for any one else! _Fi donc!_ I am ashamed of you. There--adieu, twelve to-morrow!" And with this she laughed, waved her hand, gave the signal to drive on, and left me looking after the carriage, still irritated but already half consoled.