DEAR M.,--What will you think of your dissipated daughter? Do you not think that she is insatiable? I am sure that you will say that I ought to be contented after the long season of gaiety and excitement in Paris, and settle down in lovely Petit Val, where the lilacs and the violets call one with scented voices. However, we decided to go to London. Did I write to you of our breakfast at Armenonville? After Lord Lyons's ball, which lasted until six o'clock in the morning, Prince Metternich and several others thought that it would be a good idea to go home, change our ball-dresses for morning-dress, and go out to the Bois for our morning coffee. We did it. I confess that it was a crazy thing to do after dancing all night; but the beautiful May morning, the glorious sunshine, and our spirits inspired us to carry out this wild whim, much to the disgust of our sleepy coachmen. This excursion was not a success; we were all tired and longed for bed. One cannot be amusing or _en train_ at seven o'clock in the morning. And as for the family, when we returned home all the comment they made was, "What fools!" They did not see any fun in it; neither did we, to tell the truth. The Rothschilds, Lord Lyons, and Prince and Princess Metternich gave us what must have been very powerful letters, for we had hardly been in London more than a few days before we knew every one worth knowing, and all doors worth opening were opened to us, and I found myself what one calls _lancée_. We took rooms in Park Street; that is, we had the two stories of the house. The landlady lived downstairs, and gave us our meals when we were at home. As soon as we got settled we left our cards and letters of introduction. Invitation followed invitation in the most bewildering manner, sometimes several for the same day. I could not begin to tell you all that we have already done. Writing letters seems to be the one thing which I have no time for. It is a perpetual push and rush from morning till night. Our first dinner was at Baron and Baroness Rothschilds', where the Prince and Princess of Wales and a great many distinguished people were invited. I sat next to a Mr. Osbourne--everybody called him Dick. He told me that he was the most dined-out and tired-out man in London, and that he had not eaten at home for six months. I had not seen their Royal Highnesses since their visit to Paris during the Exposition. They said that they remembered me; but I cannot think it possible that they can have such wonderful memories. I never saw such a splendid collection of orchids as there was on the table, and each lady had a bouquet of orchids and roses by her plate. I was asked to sing, and was delighted to do it. The Rothschilds' ballroom was a glorious place in which to make a debut. Michael Costa, the well-known musician, came after dinner and accompanied me in the "Cavatina" from "Rigoletto," and the waltz from the "Pardon de Ploërmel."