Having handed him Hamelin's letter, which delighted him, she watched him as he exulted over the approaching triumph, and said to herself that she would henceforth look after him more closely in order to prevent the follies of which he would otherwise certainly be guilty. However, she could not bring herself to treat him with severity. 'Your son came here to invite you to dinner,' she said, 'on behalf of Madame de Jeumont.' 'Oh, she had already written to me!' he exclaimed. 'I forgot to tell you that I am going there this evening. It bores me terribly, tired as I am.' Then he went off, after once more kissing her white hair. She returned to her work again, with her wonted kindly, indulgent smile. She had forced herself to subdue her feelings. Was she not, after all, but a friend--a friend in all things? The thought of jealousy caused her shame. She wished to rise superior to the pain it might bring her. For, despite everything, she loved him with all her courageous, charitable heart. It was the triumph of love--that fellow Saccard, that financial bandit of the streets, loved so completely, so absolutely by that adorable woman because she beheld him, brave and active, creating a world, making life. CHAPTER VIII THE BOOM BEGINS It was on April 1, in the midst of _fêtes_, that the Universal Exhibition of 1867 was opened with triumphal splendour. The Empire's great 'season' was beginning, that supreme gala season which was to turn Paris into the hostelry of the entire world--a hostelry gay with bunting, song, and music, where there was feasting and love-making in every room. Never had a _régime_ at the zenith of its power convoked the nations to such a colossal spree. From the four corners of the earth a long procession of emperors, kings, and princes started on the march towards the Tuileries, which were all ablaze like some palace in the crowning scene of an extravaganza.