There were only five of us: Madame de Fersen and her husband, the captain of the _Alexina_, a distinguished young officer, Du Pluvier, and I. Du Pluvier had been attaché to the French legation in Constantinople, but had soon become tired of his duties there, and had asked to be recalled. He had profited by the visit of the Russian frigate to return to Toulon. It is so long since I have seen anything of society, that my visit had all the attraction of novelty. I made quite a study of Madame de Fersen, who sketched for me several portraits, among them that of the British minister at Constantinople, with a wit and power of description quite remarkable. I have never met the honourable Sir ----, but his portrait is now for ever imprinted on my memory. I have always supposed that nothing could be more insupportable than a woman who liked to talk politics. I have almost changed my mind since listening to Madame de Fersen. There is nothing vague or nebulous about her way of talking; she sometimes explains events of serious importance by the human passions that give rise to them, and by showing what private interests they conflict with; thus going from effect to cause, from the infinitely great to the infinitely small, she reaches very piquant and unexpected conclusions. Her theories suit me so well that I undoubtedly look on them with great partiality; however, I think that I am safe in claiming for Madame de Fersen a distinguished position among eminently clever women. The prince having been entrusted with numerous missions to the different European powers, his wife had naturally been intimately acquainted with the most distinguished persons of each nation; nothing could be more amusing than her conversation, as she passed in review these well-known personages, and told the wittiest things about them. Her dress was beautiful, and I was quite sure it was French, for such toilets can only come from Paris. It was with real delight that I noticed the long tresses of her black hair, half hidden under a blonde lace barbe, in which she had fastened a spray of geranium blossoms. She wore a robe of white India muslin, adorably fresh and delicate, and her little feet were encased in black satin slippers. It was all so fresh and simple and new to me, that the bright coloured yellaks and embroidered fezzes of the Grecian girls seemed horribly crude and vulgar, and their gold and silver made me think of the tinsel dresses of rope-dancers. I know not whether to rejoice or be alarmed at what has happened. I have been seized with a sudden disgust at the life I have been leading here for the last year.