there are so few who see clearly). Many have gone of that
group,--Casimir Perier, Leon Say, Jules Ferry, St. Vallier, Comte Paul
de Segur, Barthelemy St. Hilaire,--but others remain, younger men who
were then beginning their political careers and were eager to drink in
lessons and warnings from the old statesman, who fought gallantly to
the last.

I found the first winter in Paris as the wife of a French deputy rather
trying, so different from the easy, pleasant life in Rome. That has
changed, too, of course, with United Italy and Rome the capital, but it
was a small Rome in our days, most informal. I don't ever remember
having written an invitation all the years we lived in Rome. Everybody
led the same life and we saw each other all day, hunting, riding,
driving, in the villas in the afternoon, generally finishing at the
Pincio, where there was music. All the carriages drew up and the young
men came and talked to the women exactly as if they were at the opera or
in a ballroom. When we had music or danced at our house, we used to tell
some well-known man to say "on danse chez Madame King ce soir." That was
all. Paris society is much stiffer, attaches much more importance to
visits and reception days.

There is very little informal receiving, no more evenings with no
amusement of any kind provided, and a small table at one end of the room
with orangeade and cakes, which I remember when I was first married (and
always in Lent the quartet of the Conservatoire playing classical
symphonies, which of course put a stop to all conversation, as people
listened to the artists of the Conservatoire in a sort of sacred
silence). Now one is invited each time, there is always music or a
comedie, sometimes a conference in Lent, and a buffet in the
dining-room. There is much more luxury, and women wear more jewels.