The coachmen were swearing and shouting as only French coachmen can do on such occasions as this. The line of carriages reached almost the whole way down the Champs Élysées. We finally did find ours, and I was glad to seat myself in it. I had had the forethought to put my hat and mantle in, as we intended to drive out to Petit Val for dinner. I put my hat over my tiara and my mantle on my bare shoulders, and enjoyed driving through the shady streets. Prince Metternich came out here the other day, I had not seen him since the tragic death of Emperor Maximilian in Mexico. I never would have believed that he could be so affected as he seemed to be by this. He cried like a baby when he told us of the Emperor's last days, of his courage and fortitude. It seems that, just as he was going to be shot, he went to each of the men and gave them a twenty-franc gold piece, and said, "I beg you to shoot straight at my heart." How dreadful it must have been! Prince Metternich was most indignant at Rochefort, and says he can never forgive him because, in an article in _La Lanterne_, he called the royal martyr "the Archdupe." Auber said: "You must not forget that Rochefort would rather sell his soul than lose an occasion to make a clever remark." "Yes, I know," moaned the Prince. "But how can one be so cruel?" "C'est un mauvais drôle," Auber answered (don't think Auber meant that Rochefort was droll; on the contrary, this is a neat way that the French have of calling a man the _worst kind of a scamp_), and added, "Rochefort's brains are made of _pétards_," which is the French for firecrackers. Auber told many anecdotes. I fancy he wanted to cheer Prince Metternich up a little. One of them was that, on taking leave of the Emperor, the Shah had said: "Sire, your Paris is wonderful, your palaces splendid, and your horses magnificent, but," waving his hand toward the mature but noble _dames d'honneur_ with an expression of disapproval, "you must change all that." Imagine what their feelings would have been had they heard him. PARIS, _August, 1867._ DEAR M.,--I thought there would be a little rest for me after the distribution of prizes and before going to Dinard; but repose is a thing, it seems, that I am destined never to get. Monday morning I received a letter from Princess Metternich saying that the Minister of Foreign Affairs had sent her his box for that evening, to hear Schneider in "La Belle Hélène," adding that Cora Pearl was to appear as Cupidon as an extra attraction, and asked if we would dine with them first, and go afterward to the theater. I could not resist an invitation from these two delightful people, therefore we drove into Paris and reached the embassy at half-past six, the hour named for dinner.