ies, who, even at that time, had
already left off dancing in the pretty old-fashioned way, and merely
walked through their quadrilles. The royal matron of thirty-five, with a
goodly family growing up around her, executed every step as her dancing
master had taught her, and with none of the listlessness that was
supposed to be the "correct thing." I was standing close to Canrobert,
who had been recalled to resume his functions near the Emperor. After
watching the Queen for a minute or so, he turned round to the lady on
his arm. "Pardi, elle danse comme ses soldats se battent, 'en veux-tu,
en voila;' et corrects jusqu'a la fin." There never was a greater
admirer of the English soldier than Canrobert. The splendour of that
fete at the Hotel-de-Ville has only been surpassed once, in 1867, when
the civic fathers entertained a whole batch of sovereigns.

On the 24th, there was a third visit to the Exhibition, and I remember
eight magnificent carriages passing down the Avenue des Champs-Elysees.
They were, however, only drawn by two horses each. I was making my way
to the Champ de Mars, where a review was to be held in honour of her
Majesty, and had told the cab to wait in the Rue Beaujon, while I
stepped into the main road to have a look at the beautiful scene. The
moment the carriages were past I returned to the Rue Beaujon, and ran up
against Beranger, who was living there. The old man seemed in a great
hurry, which was rather surprising, because he was essentially
phlegmatic, and rarely put himself out for anything. So I asked him the
reason of his haste. "I want to see your queen," he replied. A year or
two before he had refused to go to the Tuileries to see the Empress, who
had sent for him; and the latter, who could be most charming when she
liked, had paid him a visit instead.

"I thought you did not trouble yourself much about royalty," I remarked.
"You refused to go and see the Empress, and you rush along to see the
Queen?"

"Non; je vais voir la femme: s'il y avait beaucoup de femmes comme elle,
je leur pardonnerais d'etre reines."

Her Majesty has never heard of this. It was the most magnificent and, at
the same time, most witty tribute to her private virtues. All this
happened many, many years ago. Since then I have often wondered why
Prince Albert, who, I feel certain, knew the worth of all these men as
well as he knew the merit of the litterateurs of his own country, did
not suggest to his august consort a r