hers.

I was amused at his gala dress for royalty: a much-too-big redingote, a
white tie tied a good deal to one side, and only one wig.

He says that he is seventy-three years old. I must say that this is
difficult to believe, for he does not look it by ten years. He never
accepts any invitations. I know I have never seen him anywhere outside his
own house, and it was a great surprise to see him now. We once ventured to
invite him and his wife to dinner one evening, when the Prince and
Princess Metternich were dining with us; and we got this answer: "Merci,
de votre invitation pour ma femme et moi. Nous regrettons de ne pouvoir
l'accepter. Ma femme ne sort que pour aller a la messe, et moi je ne sors
jamais de mes habitudes." We felt snubbed, as no doubt we deserved to be.

Gounod played most enchantingly some selections from "Romeo et Juliette,"
the opera he has just composed. I hear that he wants Christine Nilsson to
sing it. The music seems to me even more beautiful than "Faust." Rossini
talked a long time with Gounod, and Auber told me that Rossini said,
patting Gounod on the back, "Vous etes le chevalier Bayard de la musique."

Gounod answered, "Sans peur, non!"

Rossini said, "Dans tous les cas, sans reproche et sans egal."

Gounod is, I think, the gentlest, the most modest, and the kindest-hearted
man in the world. His music is like him, gentle and graceful. Princess
Mathilde asked me to sing again; but, as I had not brought any music,
Auber offered to accompany me in the "Song of the Djins," from his new
opera, which I had so often sung with him. It was not the song I should