there such a furore for dancing as in Paris. Every family has its weekly
reception, and every card of invitation bears in the corner, "On
dansera." These receptions are the freest and gayest imaginable. Any
person who has the entrée of the house comes when he feels inclined.
Introductions are not indispensable as with us: any gentleman may ask a
lady to dance with him, whether he has been formally presented or not,
and it would be an affront to decline except for a previous engagement.
The company assemble about ten, and often dance till three or four in
the morning. In any one house we see nearly the same people once a week
for the whole winter, and such frequent companionship gives a feeling of
intimacy. It is surprising how many French men and French women have
some special artistic talent, dramatic or musical, and with what ready
good-humor each contributes to the entertainment of the rest. In every
assembly, with all its sparkle of youth and gayety, there is a
background of mature age; but though a card-room is generally open, it
never seems to draw many from the salons de danse.

In these salons the little princess entered, at once upon her royalty.
Her dancing was the poetry of motion. She sang, and the most brilliant
men hung over her enraptured. "She was like Adelina Patti," they said,
"but of a more perfect and delicate type of beauty. What wonderful eyes,
with the long thick lashes veiling Oriental depths of liquid light! How
the music trickled from her fingers, and poured from her small throat
like the delicious warble of a nightingale! What a loss to art that her
position precluded her from singing in the opera! Not Malibran or Grisi
ever had triumphs that would equal hers." Eminent painters wished to
make a study of her face. Authors who had received the prizes of the
Academy for grave historical works sent her adulatory verses. "May
I--flirtation--wid you--loavely meess?" asked one of "the immortal
forty," displaying his English.