forward to bow; the stage was covered with flowers and wreaths. And
Nilsson, in picking up her floral tributes, was wreathed in smiles; but
they faded like mist before the sun the minute the curtain was lowered,
and she looked tired and worn out. Her maid was there, waiting with a
shawl to wrap around the shoulders of the hot prima-donna, and the prim
Miss Richardson ready to escort her to her room, while the army of shirt-
sleeved men invaded the stage like bees, with brooms which, though
anything but new, I hope swept clean. Then everything was dark and dismal,
lit only by one or two candles and a solitary lantern. All that was so
brilliant a moment before was now only a confused mass of disillusions.

Nilsson and her duenna drove to Mrs. H----'s and had supper with us. One
would never have dreamt that she had been dying of consumption an hour
before, to see her stow away ham, salad, and pudding in great quantities.
Then she embraced us all and drove off in her coupe. The star was going to
set. I went home, glad that my life lay in other paths.


PARIS, _March, 1865._

DEAR M.,--Do not be anxious about me. When Mrs. M---- wrote, I was really
in danger of a _fluxion de poitrine_. I am sorry she worried you
unnecessarily. I am much better; in fact, I am far on the road to
recovery. If every one had such a nice time when they are ill as I had
they would not be in a hurry to get well. When I was convalescent enough
to come down-stairs, and the doctor had said his last word (the
traditional "you must be careful"), I had my _chaise-longue_ moved down
into Henry's studio, and Monsieur Gudin, who is the kindest man in the
world, offered to come there and paint a picture in order to amuse and
divert me.