Then she turned the handle of the library door, and was instantly deafened by the babel within.
The guests took their departure a little before sunset.

M.Raoul was not among the long train which shook hands with her and filed down the avenue at the heels of M.de Tocqueville and General Rochambeau.
Twenty minutes later, while the servants were setting the hall in order, she heard her brother's voice beneath the window of her boudoir, explaining the system on which the Romans warmed their houses.
She had picked up a religious book, but found herself unable to fix her attention upon it or even to sit still.

Her hand still burned where M.Raoul's lips had touched it.

She recalled Endymion's prophecy that these entertainments would throw the domestic mechanism--always more delicately poised on Sundays than on weekdays--completely oft its pivot.

She had pledged herself to prevent this, and had made a private appeal to the maidservants with whose Sunday-out they interfered.