e.

COUNT DE MONTALEMBERT.--And Naples!

BARON THENARD.--I prefer Naples.

M. FULCHIRON.--Yes, Naples, that's the place. By the by, I was there
when poor Nourrit killed himself. I was staying in the house next to
his.

BARON CHARLES DUPIN.--He took his life? It was not an accident?

M. FULCHIRON.--Oh! it was a case of suicide, sure enough. He had been
hissed the previous day. He could not stand that. It was in an opera
composed expressly for him--"Polyceucte." He threw himself from a height
of sixty feet. His voice did not please that particular public. Nourrit
was too much accustomed to sing Glueck and Mozart. The Neapolitans said
of him: "Vecchico canto."

BARON DUPIN.--Poor Nourrit! why did he not wait! Duprez has lost his
voice. Eleven years ago Duprez demolished Nourrit; to-day Nourrit would
demolish Duprez.

MARQUIS DE BOISSY.--How cold it is on this staircase.

COUNT PHILIPPE DE SEGUR.--It was even colder at the Academy the other
day. That poor Dupaty is a good man, but he made a bad speech.

BARON FEUTRIER.--I am trying to warm myself. What a frightful draught!
It is enough to drive one away.

BARON CHARLES DUPIN.--M. Francais de Nantes had conceived this expedient
to rid himself of those who came to solicit favours and abridge their
solicitations: he was given to receiving people between two doors.

M. Thiers at this time had a veritable court of deputies about him.
After the session he walked out in front of me. A gigantic deputy, whose
back only I could see, stepped aside, saying: "Make way for historical
men!" And the big man let the little man pass.

Historical? May be. In what way?

II. THE DUCHESS D'ORLEANS.

Madame the Duchess d'Orleans is a rare woman, of great wit and common
sense. I do not think that she is fully appreciated at the Tuileries.
The King, though, holds her in high esteem and often engages in long
conversations with her. Frequently he gives her his arm to escort
her from the family drawing-room to her apartments. The royal
daughters-in-law do not always appear to act as kindly towards her.

February 26, 1844.

Yesterday the Duchess d'Orleans said to me:

"My son is not what one would call an amiable child. He is not one of
those pretty little prodigies who are an honour to their mothers, and of
whom people say: 'What a clever child! What wit! What grace!' He has a
kind heart, I know; he has wit, I believe; but nobody knows and believes
this save mysel