Marquise de Marmier, the
Vicomtesse de Noailles, and Madame Standish; all excellent dancers, and
attired in that most becoming of all styles of dress, the
_demi-toilette_, which is peculiar to France, and admits of the
after-dinner promenades or unceremonious visits in which French ladies
indulge. A simple robe of _organdie_, with long sleeves, a _canezou_ of
net, a light scarf, and a pretty _chapeau_ of _paille de riz_, form
this becoming toilette, which is considered a suitable one for all
theatres, except the Opera, where ladies go in a richer dress.

On our return from Tivoli, we had a small party to drink tea, and
remained chatting till one o'clock--a late hour for Paris. Among the
guests was our old friend Mr. T. Steuart, the nephew of Sir William
Drummond, who continues to be as clever and original as ever. His
lively remarks and brilliant sallies were very amusing.

Having complained of the want of a comfortable chair last evening, I
found a _chef d'oeuvre_ of Rainguet's in my _salon_ this morning, sent
me by my thoughtful and ever-kind friend the Duc de Guiche. A
connoisseur in chairs and sofas, being unhappily addicted to "taking
mine ease" not only in "mine inn," but wherever I meet these requisites
to it, I am compelled to acknowledge the superiority of Rainguet over
any that I have previously seen; and my only fear is, that this
luxurious chair will seduce me into the still greater indulgence of my
besetting or _besitting_ sin, sedentary habits.

At length, we have found a house to suit us, and a delightful one it
is; once the property of the Marechal Ney, but now belonging to the
Marquis de Lillers. It is situated in the Rue de Bourbon, but the
windows of the principal apartments look on the Seine, and command a
delightful view of the Tuilerie Gardens. It is approached by an avenue
bounded by fine trees, and is enclosed on the Rue de Bourbon side by
high walls, a large _porte-cochere_, and a porter's lodge; which give
it all the quiet and security of a country house.

This hotel may be viewed as a type of the splendour that marked the
dwellings of the imperial _noblesse_, and some notion of it may be
conceived from the fact that the decorations of its walls alone cost a
million of francs. These decorations are still--thanks to the purity of
the air of Paris--as fresh as if only a year painted, and are of great
beauty; so much so, that it will be not only very expensive but very
difficult to assort the