This was a great occasion, seeing and hearing Rossini, Gounod, and Auber at the same time. I shall never forget that evening. I wonder that I had the courage to sing before them. Among the guests was an Indian Nabob dressed in all his orientals, who in himself would have been sufficient attraction for a whole evening, had he not been totally eclipsed by the three great artists. The Nabob probably expected more homage than he received; but people hardly looked at him. I was presented to him, and he seemed glad to speak English, which was not of the best, but far better than his French. He told me a great deal about his journey, the attractions of Paris, and about his country and family. I asked him, by way of saying something (I was not particularly interested in him or his family), how many children he had. He answered, "Quite a few, milady." "What does your Highness call a few?" I asked. "Well, I think about forty," he replied, nonchalantly. "That would be considered quite a large family here," I said. The Nabob, of course, did not appreciate the profundity of this remark. A few days after, the Princess Mathilde sent me a lovely fan which she had painted herself, and Mr. Moulton is going to have it mounted. I am very happy to have it as a souvenir of a memorable evening, besides being an exquisite specimen of the Princess's talent as an artist. The Princess is what one might call miscellaneous. She has a Corsican father, a German mother, and a Russian husband, and as "cavaliere servente" (as they say in Italy), a Dutchman. She was born in Austria, brought up in Italy, and lives in France. She said once to Baron Haussmann, "If you go on making boulevards like that, you will shut me up like a vestal." "I will never make another, your Highness," he answered. Every one is very much excited about a young Swedish girl called Christine Nilsson, who has walked right into the star-light, for she really is a star of the first magnitude. She has studied with Wachtel only one year, and behold her now singing at the Théâtre Lyrique to crowded audiences in the "Flûte Enchantée." Her voice has a wonderful charm; she sings without the slightest effort, and naturally as a bird. She has some phenomenal high notes, which are clear as bells. She makes that usually tedious _grand aria_, which every singer makes a mess of, quite lovely and musical, hovering as she does in the regions above the upper line like a butterfly and trilling like a canary-bird. A Chinese juggler does not play with his glass balls more dexterously than she plays with all the effects and tricks of the voice. What luck for her to have blossomed like that into a full-fledged prima-donna with so little effort. I have got to know her quite well, as Miss Haggerty, who was at some school with her in Paris, invites her often to lunch and asks me to meet her.