The Marquis de Gallifet, _Officier d'Ordonnance de l'Empereur_, whom I sat next to at dinner, is what one might call sarcastic--he actually tears people to pieces; he does not leave them with a shred of reputation, and what he does not say he implies. He thinks nothing of saying, "He! He's an abominable scoundrel. She! She is a shameless coquette!" and so forth. He spares no one; nevertheless, he is most amusing, very intelligent, and an excellent talker. He told me of his awful experience in the war of Mexico. He had been shot in the intestines and left for dead on the field of battle. He managed, by creeping and crawling, "_toujours tenant mes entrailles dans mon képi_" to reach a peasant's house, where the good people took care of him until he was able to be transported to a hospital. There he stayed through a dismal year of suffering. In order to keep the above-mentioned _entrailles_ in their proper place, the doctors covered them with a silver plate. "I had my name engraved on it," he said. He asked me, "Did you ever hear anything like that?" I tried to fancy how any one would look placarded like that, but replied that I had never heard of anything quite so awful; but I _had_ heard that every cloud had a silver lining. He laughed and said, "I shall call myself a cloud in future." The dinner to-night was very good. I give you the menu: Potage tortue clair, Crème de volaille, Brisotins de foie gras, Saumon Napolitain, Filet de boeuf à la moderne, Suprême de perdreaux, Homards à la Parisienne, Gelinottes rôties, Salade, Petits pois à l'Anglaise, Ananas Montmorency, Glaces assorties, Café--Liqueur (both served at the table). Dinner over, we filed before the _Cent Gardes_ in their shining uniforms through the long gallery. It was earlier than usual when we began to dance; but we were (at least I was) interrupted by receiving a message from their Majesties, asking me if I would kindly sing something for them. Of course I did not refuse, and we adjourned to the music-room, where the Erard piano was. [Illustration: THE MUSIC HALL--CHÂTEAU DE COMPIÈGNE] I did not exactly know what to sing; but Prince Metternich soon relieved my mind on that score by saying, "Don't bother about singing anything serious, and especially _don't_ sing anything classical." The Princess Metternich could accompany anything which was not too difficult; therefore we thought I had better sing "_Ma mère était bohémienne_," of Massé, which I did. I saw directly that this melodramatic music, beautiful as it is, did not suit the occasion, for though the gaily attuned audience was visibly affected by the phrase, _Et moi j'ai l'âme triste_, they did not show more signs of emotion than by making a little dab at their eyes with their pocket-handkerchiefs.