e
everywhere, from the Ile St.-Louis to the gates of St.-Cloud.
Hardly a part of Paris where some one you know does not live. The
very act of leaving a few cards takes a whole afternoon.

In reality there are three societies which make life for a
diplomat, whose duty it is to be well with every one, very
complicated and unending. The official season for dinners,
receptions, and _soirees_ is in the winter; French society, just
returned from the Riviera and Italy, has its real season in
spring, when Longchamps and Auteuil have races and Puteaux has its
sports. The autumn is the time when strangers flock to Paris; then
commence the restaurant and theater parties. How can any lady have
a reception-day where people of all countries, all politics, and
all societies meet? Impossible! I have tried it, and I am sorry to
say that my receptions are dead failures. Still, I persevere, as I
am told it is my duty to receive.

When our first invitation to the ball of the Elysees came I was
most anxious to see what it would be like. Is it not strange that
the cards of invitation are the same used in the Empire. "_La
Presidence de la Republique Francaise_" stands instead of "_La
Maison de l'Empereur_." I have the two before me, the old and the
new, and they are exactly alike, color, paper, and engraving!

The Diplomatic Corps has a separate entrance at the Elysees. We
were met and conducted by a master of ceremonies to the room where
the President and Madame Faure were standing. M. Faure is called
_un President decoratif_. He is tall, handsome, and has what you
might call princely manners. The privileged ones passed before
them and shook hands, quite _a l'Americaine_. I was named by M,
Crozier and got from M. Faure an extra squeeze by way of
emphasizing that I was a new-comer.

We then passed into the _salon_ where our colleagues were
assembled, and did not move from there until the presidential pair
came in at eleven o'clock. At these balls there are a great
many--too many--people invited. I have been told that there are
six thousand invitations sent out. To one gentleman is assigned
the duty to stay in the first _salon_ and pass in review the
toilets of the promiscuous guests and judge if they are suitable.
When he sees a lady (?) in a high woolen dress with thick and
soiled boots in which she has probably walked to the ball, he
politely tells her that there must be some mistake about her
invitation, and she walks meekly back to