, and
I never heard any very decisive account from any one else. Then comes
the Duchesse d'Angouleme.[119] There is no milk and water there. What
she really is I may not be able to detect, but I will forfeit my little
finger if there is not something passing strange within her. She is
called a Bigot and a Devotee; she has seen and felt enough, and more
than enough, to make a stronger mind than hers either the one or the
other, and I will excuse her if she is both. She is thin and genteel,
grave and dignified; she puts her fan to her underlip as Napoleon would
put his finger to his forehead, or his hand into his bosom. She stood
up, she sat down, she knelt, when others stood or sat or knelt, but I
question whether if she had been alone she would have done all according
to bell and candle, rule or regulation.

Then comes the Duchesse de Berri,[120] a young, pretty thing, a sort of
royal kitten; and then comes her husband, the Duc de Berri, a short,
vulgar-looking, anything but a kitten he is--but _arrete toi_. I am in
the land of vigilance, and already my pen trembles, for there are
gendarmes in abundance in the streets, and Messieurs Bruce and Co. in La
Force, and I do not wish to join their party. In England I may abuse our
Prince Regent and call him fat, dissipated, and extravagant, but in
France I dare not say "BO to a goose!" So, Je vous salue, M. le Duc de
Berri.

_A propos_ of the police. At the marriage of the above much honoured and
respected Duc the illumiations were general. Murray's landlord was
setting out his tallow candles, when Murray, guessing from certain
innuendoes and shrugs (for before us English they are not much afraid of
shrugging the shoulders or inventing an occasional "Bah!") that he would
have been to the full as pleased if he had been lighting his candles
upon the return of Napoleon, asked him, "Mais pourquoi faites vous cela?
I suppose you may do as you like?" "Comment donc!" replied the
astonished Frenchman; "do as I like! If I did not light my candles with
all diligence, I should be called upon to-morrow by the police to pay a
forfeit for not rejoicing."

With all this I think on the whole the Bourbons are popular; people are
accustomed to being bullied out of their opinions and use of their
tongues, and they are so sick of war, with all its inconveniences and
privations, that they begin to prefer inglorious repose. English money
is very much approved of here, but if it could be procured