gas-light, a sea of faces, of color and vagueness. The incongruity of
costumes was a thing to weep over. If they had tried they could not have
made it worse. The lady guests, walking and chatting, in a _soi-disant_
elegant salon, were dressed, some in Louis XV. splendor, some in dogesses'
brocades, some in modern finery, with bows and ribbons and things looped
up any way. Nilsson was dressed in quite modern style--flounces, laces,
and fringes, and so forth, while Alfredo had donned a black velvet coat _a
la_ something, with a huge jabot which fell over a frilled shirt-front. He
wore short velvet trousers, and black-silk stockings covered his thin legs
without the least attempt at padding.

The "padre" was in a shooting-jacket, evidently just in from a riding-
tour. He held a riding-stick, and wore riding-gantlets which he flourished
about with such wide gesticulations that I thought he was going to hit
Nilsson in the face.

We could not hear the singing so well from where we sat; but the orchestra
was overpowering, and the applause deafening, like peals of thunder.

I laughed when the gang of workmen rushed on to the stage as soon as the
curtain came down, and began sweeping and taking down one set of furniture
and putting on another; especially in the last act, when Violetta's bed
came on and the men threw the pillows from one to the other, as if they
were playing ball. They hung up a crucifix, which I thought was
unnecessary, and brought in a candlestick. I wondered if they were going
to put a warming-pan in the bed. A mat was laid down with great precision.
Then Nilsson came in, dressed in a flounced petticoat trimmed with lace, a
"matinee," and black slippers, and got into the bed.

After the performance was over the curtain was raised and the artists came