The old house in the Rue de l'Universite looked strangely brilliant.

In the circle of light projected from the outer gate a detachment of the populace stood watching the carriages roll in; the court was illumined with flaring torches and the portico carpeted with crimson.

When Newman arrived there were but a few people present.

The marquise and her two daughters were at the top of the staircase, where the sallow old nymph in the angle peeped out from a bower of plants.
Madame de Bellegarde, in purple and fine laces, looked like an old lady painted by Vandyke; Madame de Cintre was dressed in white.

The old lady greeted Newman with majestic formality, and looking round her, called several of the persons who were standing near.