ion -- The Empress's and Emperor's unpunctuality --
Louis-Napoleon not a "well-dressed man" -- The Empress wished to
get back before dark -- The reason of this wish -- Though
unpunctual, punctual on hunt-days -- The police measures at those
gatherings -- M. Hyrvoix and M. Boitelle -- The Empress did not
like the truth, the Emperor did -- Her anxiety to go to St.
Lazare.

The guests were divided into five series, each of which stayed four days
exclusive of the day of their arrival and that of their departure. Each
series consisted of between eighty and ninety guests.

The amusements provided were invariably the same for each series of
guests. On the day of their arrival there was the dinner, followed by
charades, and a carpet dance to the accompaniment of the piano--or, to
speak by the card, of the piano-organ. It was an instrument similar to
that which nowadays causes so much delight to the children in the
streets of London, and, as far as I can remember, the first of its kind
I had ever seen. The male guests, and not always the youngest, relieved
one another in turning the handle. Mechanical as was the task, it
required a certain ear for time, and they were often found sadly wanting
in that respect. It was rather comical to see a grave minister of State
solemnly grinding out tunes, and being called to task every now and
again for his incapacity. The worst offender, the most hopeless
performer, was undoubtedly the Emperor himself. The Bonapartes are one
and all devoid of the slightest taste for music. I think it is De
Bourrienne--but I will not be certain--who speaks of the founder of the
dynasty humming as he went along from one apartment to another. "Et Dieu
sait comme il chantait faux," adds the chronicler in despair. That part
of the great man's mantle had decidedly fallen upon his nephew. I
remember the latter trying to distinguish himself on that piano-organ
one evening. M. de Maupas, who was the prefect of police at the time of
the Coup d'Etat, and minister of police afterwards, was among the
guests. The ambulant musician in Paris has to get a kind of licence from
the prefecture of police, the outward sign of which is a brass badge,
which he is bound to wear suspended from his button-hole. While the
Emperor was trying to make the company waltz, one of the ladies suddenly
turned round to M. de Maupas: "Si jamais l'empereur vous demande la
permission de jouer dans la rue, refusez lu