However, she played beautifully, more like an artiste than an amateur. The Empress went forward to her, holding out her hand, which the Baroness, bowing to the ground, kissed gratefully, feeling that she had covered herself with glory, as she really had. Then Monsieur de V---- (our basso) sang "O Marguerite," from Faust, without the slightest voice, but with excellent intentions. Next, having the music under his hand, he continued and sang "Braga's Serenade," which he thought was more suited to his voice, though it is written, as you know, for a soprano. He sang the girl's part in a mysterious, husky, and sepulchral voice, and the angel's part weaker and feebler than any angel ever dreamed of. I looked at the beautiful ceiling painted by Girodet, and to keep myself from going to sleep counted the legs of the angels, and tried to calculate how many legs belonged to each. Monsieur de V---- said his idea was to make the contrast very strong between the girl and the angel; he certainly succeeded! Monsieur Dué played some of what he calls his "Sketches." "Il est si doué (gifted)," exclaimed Princess Metternich. Every one was pleased; so was he. I sang "Le Rossignol," of Alabieff, in which is the cadenza Auber wrote for me. Princess Metternich played the accompaniment. Madame C---- (our contralto) sang "Lascia che pianga," which suited her beautiful voice better than it did the audience's taste. Then she sang "Ah! Mon Fils," of "Le Prophète," with great effect, accompanying herself. But this was not the kind of music to please our audience. Count E---- (our tenor) was asked to add his Milky Way tenor to the rest of the planets, but begged to be excused on the plea of a sore throat. No one questioned this, and he was allowed to remain unheard. Later I sang "Oh! that We Two were Maying," by Gounod, a much too serious song; but the Empress said she thought it was the most beautiful one she had ever heard. I think so, too. I also sang one of Massenet's, "Poème d'Avril." They asked for "Beware!" which I sang. The Emperor came up to me (each time he gets up from his chair every one gets up and stands until he sits down again), and said, "Won't you sing the song about the shoe?" What did he mean? I had no idea. "The one you sang the other night," said the Emperor. What do you think he meant? Well, he meant "Shoo-fly!" I sang it, as he desired. I don't believe he knows yet what its true meaning is. There is an end to all things, and our concert came to an end at last. Their Majesties, with gracious smiles and repeated thanks, retired, the Milky Way faded from view, and the planets went to bed. I know I deserved mine, and I appreciated it when I got it. _December 3d._