How delightful it all is! How splendid! How luxurious! [_And so on, as before._] But I see a movement at that door. Probably the Man and his Wife are making their entry into the _salon_. See how the musicians are redoubling their efforts! There they come! There they come! Yes, there they come! There they come! [_The Man and his Wife appear at a low door on the right, accompanied by the Man's Friends and Enemies. They cross the salon obliquely to a door on the left, walking in solemn procession, and causing the dancers to divide and leave a clear space for them. The musicians play more loudly, and more extravagantly out of tune, than ever._ [_The Man looks much older than he did in Act II, and a sprinkling of grey is noticeable in his long hair and beard. Yet his face is still handsome and vigorous. He walks with a sort of calm dignity and aloofness, and gazes straight in front of him, as though he were not aware of the presence of the surrounding company. His Wife, too, looks older, but still beautiful, as she leans upon his arm. Like her husband, she seems to see none of the surrounding company, but gazes in front of her with a strange, half-apprehensive expression. They are both of them magnificently dressed._ [_Behind the Man and his Wife come the Man's Friends. The latter are uniformly like one another, with aristocratic faces, high, open foreheads, and candid eyes. They move with dignity--expanding their chests, setting down their feet with firmness and assurance, and gazing from side to side with faintly condescending smiles. They wear white buttonholes._ [_Following them at a respectful distance come the Man's Enemies. These also bear a strong general resemblance to one another--their faces being vicious and cunning, their brows low and beetling, and their hands slender and apelike. They move as though ill at ease--jostling one another, hunching their shoulders, hiding behind one another, and throwing sharp, mean, envious glances about them. They wear yellow buttonholes._ [_In this manner the procession moves slowly across the salon, without a word being spoken by any one of its members. The sound of their footsteps, combined with the strains of the musicians and the acclamations of the guests, gives rise to a sort of confused, discordant din._ ~Acclamations of the Guests.~~ There they are! There they are! What an honour for us! How handsome he is! What a manly face! Look, look! Yet he does not deign us even a glance! No; although we are his guests! He has not so much as seen us! No matter. This is a great honour for us. And there is his Wife! Look, look! How lovely she is! But how proud! Look at her diamonds, her diamonds! Her diamonds, her diamonds! And her pearls, her pearls! And her rubies, her rubies! How splendid! We are indeed honoured! Yes, are we not? What an honour, what an honour! [_And so on, and so on._] And there come the Man's Friends! Look, look! What aristocratic faces!