eemed to give him no end of pleasure.

Thus well equipped, we prepared to fall in love with Vienna, and we
found it an easy task, for in spite of it being out of season, we were
vastly entertained, and in all likelihood obtained a more intimate
knowledge of the inner life of our Vienna friends than we could have
done if we had arrived in the season of formal and more elaborate
entertainment.

The opera was there, and, with all due respect to Mr. Grau, I must admit
that we saw the most perfect production of "Faust" in Vienna than I ever
saw on any stage.

The carnival was going on, where no Viennese lady, so the baroness
declared, would _think_ of being seen, because confetti-throwing was
only resorted to by the _canaille_ (and officers and husbands of
high-born ladies, who went there with their little friends of the ballet
and chorus), but where we _did_ go, contrary to all precedent,
persuading the baroness to make up a smart party and "go slumming." Her
husband being in Italy, she had no fear of meeting _him_ there, and she
took good care to send an invitation to any one who might have been
inclined to be critical, to be of the party, which, after one mighty
protest as to the propriety of it, they one and all accepted with
suspicious alacrity.

It was not so very amusing. It consisted of merely walking along a broad
avenue lined with booths, and flinging confetti into people's faces.
More rude than lively or even amusing, it seemed to me, and my curiosity
was so easily satisfied that I was ready to go after a quarter of an
hour. But do you think we could persuade the other ladies to give it up?
Indeed, no! Like mischievous children, with Americans for an excuse,
they remained until the last ones, laughing immoderately when they
encountered men they knew. But as these men always claimed that they had
heard we were coming, and immediately attached themselves to our party
as a sort of sheet armour of protection against possible tales out of
school, our supper party afterward was quite large. A carnival like that
in America would end in a fight, if not in murder, for the American
loses sight of the fact that it is simply rude play, and when he sees a
handful of coloured paper flung in his wife's face, it might as well be
water or pebbles for the stirring effect it has on his fighting blood.

The baroness had such a beautiful evening that she quite sighed when it
was over.

"Don't you ever have this in America?" she