It is just because I am not married I suppose, so I said that is what
English people always spoke about--the weather--and I wanted to hear
something different in France. He seemed perfectly shocked, and hardly
spoke to me after that, but the Vicomte, who was listening, began at
once to say flattering things across the table. They all make
compliments upon my French, and are very gay and kind, but I wish they
did not eat so badly. The Comte and the Marquise, who are cousins, and
of the very oldest noblesse, are the worst--one daren't look sometimes.
The Comtesse is a little better, but then her family is only Empire,
and Jean and Héloise are fairly decent.

I could bear most of it, if it wasn't for the peppermint glasses at the
end, which the men have. The whole party are very French, not a bit
like the people we see at Cannes, who have been much with the English.
It is a different thing altogether. When dinner was over the rain
stopped, and after a lot of talk--as to whether the ground would be too
damp or not--we at last ventured for a walk down to the bridge and
back. Then we returned and commenced a general powdering of the beds,
beginning with the de Tournelles' apartment; next we went to the
Marquise's--she had such an exquisite nightgown laid out, it was made
of pink chiffon. When we got to my room they made all kinds of
sympathies for me having such a small and stuffy place. The powder was
all gone before we could sprinkle the Baronne's bed. Agnès was not
quite so uppish undressing me as usual. Perhaps she realised this part
of her France was not so good as England.

Next morning when I got down--we had arranged to have our _premier
déjeûner_ all together, not in our rooms, as we were to make such an
early start--"Antoine" and Héloise were already there. The Vicomte and
the Baronne came in soon after; he at once began: "Comme Mlle. est