The guests were taking their leave. Madame Laroche-Mathieu looked like a
housemaid from the country. She was the daughter of a notary, and had
been married to the deputy when he was only a barrister of small
standing. Madame Rissolin, old and stuck-up, gave one the idea of a
midwife whose fashionable education had been acquired through a
circulating library. The Viscountess de Percemur looked down upon them.
Her "Lily Fingers" touched these vulgar hands with repugnance.
Clotilde, wrapped in lace, said to Madeleine as she went out: "Your
dinner was perfection. In a little while you will have the leading
political drawing-room in Paris."
As soon as she was alone with George she clasped him in her arms,
exclaiming: "Oh, my darling Pretty-boy, I love you more and more every
day!"