Below in the pit, and all around in the balconies, were women beautifully dressed, among whom there were as few young girls as there were men. These were the most interesting women in Parisian society--the ladies of the Faubourg St.-Germain, who at that time would have appeared at scarcely any other function, and the ladies who support the _Revue des Deux Mondes_, and the pretty young daughters of champagne and chocolate-making papas who had married ancient titles, and who try to emulate in their interests, if not in their toilets, their more noble sisters-in-law, and all the prettiest women of the high world, as well as the sisters of pretenders to the throne and the wife of President Carnot. The absence of men was very noticeable; the Immortals seemed to have it all to themselves, and it looked as though they had purposely refrained from asking any men, or that the men who had not been given the robe of immortality were jealous, and so stayed away of their own accord. Those who were there either looked bored, or else posed for the benefit of the ladies, with one hand in the opening of their waistcoats, nodding their heads approvingly at what the speaker said. In the pit I recognized M. Blowitz, the famous correspondent of the _Times_, entirely surrounded by women. He wore a gray suit and a flowing white tie, and he did not seem to be having a very good time. There were also among the Immortals Jules Simon, and Alexandre Dumas fils, dark-skinned, with little, black, observant eyes, and white, curled hair, and crisp mustache. He seemed to be more interested in watching the women than in listening to the speeches, and moved restlessly and inattentively. When the exercises were over, and the Academicians came out of their box and were presented to Mr. Eustis, Dumas was gravely courteous, and spoke a few words of welcome to the ambassador in a formal, distant way, and then hurried off by himself without waiting to chat with the women, as the others did. He was the most interesting of them all to me, and the least interested in what was going on. There were many others there, and it was amusing to try and fasten to them the names of Pasteur and Henri Meilhac, Ludovic Halévy, and the Duc d'Aumale, the uncle of the Comte de Paris, who was then alive, and Benjamin Constant, who had the week before been admitted to the Institute. Some of them, heavy-eyed men, with great firm jaws and heavy foreheads, wearing their braided coats uneasily, as though they would have been more comfortable in a surgeon's apron or a painter's blouse, kept you wondering what they had done; and others, dapper and smiling and obsequious, made you ask what they could possibly do.