of charity. This lady was once one of the most popular
actresses on the French stage, and with Mademoiselle Mars and Rose Cheri
was the idol of Paris--Leontine Fay. She was, if possible, a still
greater favorite in St. Petersburg, where, on her retirement from the
stage, she became French reader to the late czarina. Since the death of
the empress she has always resided at Nice, where she is distinguished
for her exalted piety and extreme charity. Even when on the stage this
lady devoted her leisure to charitable works. She was always remarked
for her modesty of manner: her dress was simplicity itself. At the
theatre she wore costumes rich and elegant, suited to the parts she
enacted, but in society she invariably appeared in plain white muslin or
dark silk. It would be impossible to exaggerate her goodness. Her whole
life has been passed amongst the poor, in the minute fulfillment
of her duties, and on her knees in church. After acting one part of
the evening, she would hasten, on the fall of the curtain, to pass the
rest of it watching by the bedside of some poor wretch stricken low
perhaps by some infectious disease. During the war of 1870, Madame
Volnis's conduct was angelical. If there was some awful operation to be
performed upon any of the wounded soldiers sent to Nice from the field
of battle, it was she who was present, who held the sufferer's hand, and
who consoled and cheered with the tenderness of a Sister of Charity--of
a mother.

As the austere figure of Leontine Fay passes away, hidden in a cloud of
sunny dust raised by the wheels of a hundred carriages, another form
comes upon the stage, radiant amongst the most brilliant, the observed
of all observers--Madame Rattazzi, _nee_ Princess Bonaparte Wyse. What a
wonderful toilette is hers! One fine afternoon she appeared upon the
Promenade clad in a purple velvet robe, edged and flounced with
canary-colored satin, looped up voluminously _en panier_, and adorned
with big bows of yellow ribbon. Her hat was a broad-brimmed Leghorn
straw trimmed with large bunches of pansies. No one but Madame Rattazzi
could have worn such an attire in the public streets without the risk of
being hooted, but such are the grace and beauty of this celebrated woman
that her costume seemed in perfect keeping. She was in Nice one winter
for at least five months, and every day saw her out in a fresh dress.
When she travels she has more boxes than Madame Ristori. She dwelt on
the Promena