She watched the balloon.
An aristocratic old man leaned against the car, watch in hand; at intervals he scowled, or stamped his foot.
An old sailor, tranquilly smoking a pipe, walked round and round the balloon, staring at it; once he climbed up into the rigging, and once he jumped into the car and angrily threw out of it a bag, which some one had placed in it.
But for the most part he was calm.
Other persons of authority hurried about, talking and gesticulating; and a number of workmen waited idly for orders.
"Where is Chirac?" suddenly cried the old man with the watch.
Several voices deferentially answered, and a man ran away into the gloom on an errand.
Then Chirac appeared, nervous, self-conscious, restless.
He was enveloped in a fur coat that Sophia had never seen before, and he carried dangling in his hand a cage containing six pigeons whose whiteness stirred uneasily within it.
The sailor took the cage from him and all the persons of authority gathered round to inspect the wonderful birds upon which, apparently, momentous affairs depended.
When the group separated, the sailor was to be seen bending over the edge of the car to deposit the cage safely.
He then got into the car, still smoking his pipe, and perched himself negligently on the wicker-work.
The man with the watch was conversing with Chirac; Chirac nodded his head frequently in acquiescence, and seemed to be saying all the time:
"Yes, sir!
Perfectly sir!
I understand, sir!
Yes, sir!"
Suddenly Chirac turned to the car and put a question to the sailor, who shook his head.
Whereupon Chirac gave a gesture of submissive despair to the man with the watch.
And in an instant the whole throng was in a ferment.
"The victuals!" cried the man with the watch.
"The victuals, name of God!
Must one be indeed an idiot to forget the victuals!
Name of God--of God!"
Sophia smiled at the agitation, and at the inefficient management which had never thought of food. For it appeared that the food had not merely been forgotten; it was a question which had not even been considered.
She could not help despising all that crowd of self-important and fussy males to whom the idea had not occurred that even balloonists must eat.
And she wondered whether everything was done like that.
After a delay that seemed very long, the problem of victuals was solved, chiefly, as far as Sophia could judge, by means of cakes of chocolate and bottles of wine.
"It is enough!
It is enough!" Chirac shouted passionately several times to a knot of men who began to argue with him.
Then he gazed round furtively, and with an inflation of the chest and a patting of his fur coat he came directly towards Sophia.
Evidently Sophia's position had been prearranged between him and Carlier.
They could forget food, but they could think of Sophia's position!
All eyes followed him.
Those eyes could not, in the gloom, distinguish Sophia's beauty, but they could see that she was young and slim and elegant, and of foreign carriage.
That was enough.
The very air seemed to vibrate with the intense curiosity of those eyes.
And immediately Chirac grew into the hero of some brilliant and romantic adventure.
Immediately he was envied and admired by every man of authority present.
What was she?
Who was she?
Was it a serious passion or simply a caprice?
Had she flung herself at him?
It was undeniable that lovely creatures did sometimes fling themselves at lucky mediocrities.
Was she a married woman?
An artiste? A girl?
Such queries thumped beneath overcoats, while the correctness of a ceremonious demeanour was strictly observed.
Chirac uncovered, and kissed her hand.
The wind disarranged his hair.
She saw that his face was very pale and anxious beneath the swagger of a sincere desire to be brave.