The road was full of carriages.

The _trottoir_ was almost as populous as at noon.

The idlers outside the _cafes_ were still eating their ices and sipping their _eau-sucre_ as though, instead of being past eleven at night, it was scarcely eleven in the morning.

In a few minutes, we had once more turned aside out of the great thoroughfare, and stopped at a private house in a quiet street.

A carriage driving off, a cab drawing up behind our own, open windows with drawn blinds, upon which were profiled passing shadows of the guests within, and the ringing tones of a soprano voice, accompanied by a piano, gave sufficient indication of a party, and had served to attract a little crowd of soldiers and _gamins_ about the doorway.
Having left our over-coats with a servant, we were ushered upstairs, and, as the song was not yet ended, slipped in unannounced and stationed ourselves just between two crowded drawing-rooms, where, sheltered by the folds of a muslin curtain, we could see all that was going on in both.