During the representation of that tableau, a young Frenchman, the Baron Thierry, attached to the Portuguese Legation, played a solo on the harp. The young fellow, who was brought up in England, whither he had accompanied his parents at the time of the emigration, had assiduously practised that instrument, and attained a degree of perfection on it which at that period was very rare. He was well built, with an interesting face, and one of the most admired of strangers in Viennese society. His solo, played with all the perfection his instrument would permit, produced the greatest effect, and was cordially applauded, the signal for the applause coming from the royalties themselves. Even Olympus itself appeared to be moved by it. Finally the curtain fell amidst unanimous signs of approval; the sovereigns rose, and we passed into an adjoining hall sumptuously arranged for the ball. ‘You probably do not know the story of the beautiful Comtesse Rzewuska, whom you have just admired in the character of Minerva. She is the daughter of the Princesse Rosalie Lubomirska, who was guillotined during the Terror. The child, after the death of her mother, on the 12th Messidor of the Year II. (30th June 1794), was taken home and brought up by a laundress, and by the merest accident discovered by her uncle, the Comte Chodkïewicz, who had been in search of her for many years, and finally taken back to Poland. It is the most startling drama in real life.’[65] Meanwhile dancing had commenced, and I went to offer my arm to the Princesse Esterhazy, whom I had the honour to escort during part of the evening. She conversed about art with the greatest facility, her remarks being emphasised by eminently just quotations altogether exempt from the slightest pedantry. Her comments on society were marked by a similar justness of observation, none the less just for being tempered by great forbearance. Her beautiful features bore the unmistakable signs of her being an irreproachable wife, a most affectionate mother, and a most devoted and sincere friend. As a consequence, her conversation seemed to me infinitely preferable to the somewhat boisterous amusements of that evening. All those who had taken part in the tableaux and in the illustrations of the songs had retained their costumes. There was a considerable number of them. They organised quadrilles which lent a new attraction to that fête, namely, that of variety. It seemed as if grace, that divine part of beauty, had been equally divided, though under different forms, among the dwellers in every climate. Never was this fact more pertinently felt than at those fêtes of the Congress, at which the most remarkable women of the various countries of Europe shone with equal, though distinct, splendour.