All the men hastened from the adjoining rooms, scrambled and plunged into the _salon_ at the news that the Mauritanians had again begun to dance.

That time it must have been the frantic, lascivious gallop that Paris whispered about, for Pierre saw the rows of necks and heads, now fair, now dark, wave and quiver as beneath a violent wind.

With every window-shutter closed, the conflagration of the electric lamps turned the place into a perfect brazier, reeking with human effluvia.

And there came a spell of rapture, fresh laughter and bravos, all the delight of an overflowing orgy.
When Pierre again found himself on the footwalk, he remained for a moment bewildered, blinking, astonished to be in broad daylight once more.
Half-past four would soon strike, but he had nearly two hours to wait before calling at the house in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy.

What should he do?
He paid his driver; preferring to descend the Champs Elysees on foot, since he had some time to lose.