If David Trimble was being treated to a double standing ovation in Belfast, his political adversary, Gerry Adams, was enjoying a similar benediction from his followers in the RDS at Sinn Fein's 92nd ardfheis.
But, unlike Belfast, there were no distasteful taunts of "traitor" or "sell-out" in Ballsbridge. Critics of Mr Adams and Mr Martin McGuinness keep their counsel.
The library of the RDS was overfilled and overheated as the two made their way through the now familiar corps of photographers and cameramen. Word had it that they had holed up in some hotel, putting the finishing touches to their double-act keynote address for Saturday afternoon.
Gone are the days when the Sinn Fein ardfheis took place in some draughty community hall with mudslides and wild horses outside the front door. These days the big annual event is as choreographed as Riverdance, and the audience is as appreciative.
In spite of speculation of serious dissension on the Good Friday agreement, there was no clamour for heads. The only ripple in an otherwise tranquil scene arose from the arrival of the suspended Sinn Fein councillor, Mr Francis Mackey, who was refused entry to the RDS. Stewards prevented journalists from using the rear exits to gain access to Mr Mackey, who wanted to come to state his objections to the deal.
But early on Saturday straws in the wind suggested that the party was in positive mode about the agreement. Guests from the ANC, East Timor and the Basque region of Spain spoke of the new era heralded by the deal.
Later on Mr McGuinness said it provided the basis for advancement; Mr Adams said that, while it was not a settlement, it was a basis for advancement.
On stage the leadership was almost in bantering mood. Mr Caoimhghin O Caolain described the chief negotiator as "a ringer for Art Garfunkel" but Mr McGuinness regretted that Mr Adams did not sing like Paul Simon.
Delegates greeted them both with tumultuous clapping and whistling.
A festive mood took hold with a flurry of embraces and handshakes among the chiefs of the republican fraternity. Mr Adams quipped that when he went to shake the hands of Joe Cahill and Martin Ferris on the podium, the veteran from Belfast reminded him that he was standing between two convicted gunrunners.
There were clenched fists and a Belfast musician bearing the upbeat appellation "Cruncher" took up his guitar and gave them a rendering of Something Inside So Strong, which has become something of an anthem at Sinn Fein ardfheiseanna.
Unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and the time had arrived to allow delegates clear their throats and tell it as it was.
John Murtagh from Dublin delivered the most caustic assessment of the deal. "Let's face it," he suggested, "this is pretty bad." He made it sound like this was the understatement of the decade. The deal held little hope for those who wished to tackle the roots of the conflict. It did not change the unionist veto, had reaffirmed British occupation and proposed major changes in the Irish Constitution.
But, again, there was no criticism of the leadership.
More criticisms followed, but none that could not be borne.
But gravity was diverted for the moment when, out of the blue, the actor Ger O'Leary, most familiar in his exposition of Big Jim Larkin, came thundering up the entrance hall, purporting to be Wolfe Tone in a section entitled on the conference programme "1798 remembered".
Artistic licence was stretched to the limits with Ger's steelrimmed specs, red moustache, raven wig and raucous Dublin greeting, "How's she cuttin'?" How odd to hear this revolutionary from Northern Presbyterian upper middle-class stock thunder: "Here we are, and who's like us?"
Supported by pike-carrying United Irishmen and chased by red-jacket yeomen with muskets, the father of Irish republicanism took the stand to tell that while "we had it hard in '98", he could only contemplate in awe the perseverance of the present bunch of republicans.
"My throat is dry. It's the first time I've spoken in 200 years," he roared before reading the creed of United Irishmen and Irishwomen which concludes with the line: "In this faith I mean to live or bravely die."
With that, musicians Tony McMahon and Noel Hill from Co Clare burst into a flight of jigs, and then Cruncher was at it again, this time with, predictably, A Nation Once Again.
It was time to repair to the barrooms where republican theology and pragmatism were locked in combat, with pragmatism already looking the likely winner.