All the lackeys, valets, grooms, in fact, all the household servants, formed a large circle in the enormous _cour d'honneur_ opposite the Imperial balcony, all bearing flaming torches made of tar, which lighted up the whole place. Behind these stood the populace of Compiègne, who are allowed to be present on these occasions. At the farther side of the courtyard, and directly opposite their Majesties, the chief huntsman held up the skin of the stag, which contained the entrails, waving it backward and forward, in order to excite the hounds. The _piqueurs_ stood in front of the "Perron," holding the dogs back with great difficulty, for they were struggling to get loose, and yelping in their eagerness and greediness to rush forward. As the _chasseur_ waved the skin, the _piqueurs_ let the hounds loose, and when they were half-way across the court, approaching the object of their desire, the _piqueurs_ called them back, in order to show how well disciplined and under what complete control they were. The tantalizing of the poor animals was repeated several times. At last the fanfare was sounded, and the hounds were allowed to rush forward midst the tooting of horns, the cracking of whips, and the cries and shouts of the crowd. The torches were waved high in the air, giving a weird light to the whole scene, and the entrails at last were thrown to the dogs, and before you could say "Jack Robinson" everything was devoured. You can picture to yourself what a unique and fantastic sight this must have been! It was eleven o'clock when we returned to the salon, where tea and refreshments were served. Those returning to Paris took leave of their Majesties and drove to the station, where the special Imperial train provided for them was waiting. Later their Majesties took leave of us. We lingered a little, as it was our last evening. On returning to my apartment, I saw on my table a package, on which was written, _De la part de l'Empereur_. You can imagine how eager I was to open it. Those magic words brought untold visions before my eyes. What might it not be? I opened the package feverishly, and what was my surprise and _disappointment_ to find a rather ordinary-looking _tabatière_ and a package of tobacco, written on it, _Du bon tabac pour le maître de chant de Madame Moulton_. Was it not a cruel blow? _November 30th._ Here we are again in Paris, glad to be at home after our gay week in Compiègne, charming and delightful as it was; there is always great fatigue and tension attending such visits. To-day I luxuriate in one dress; no changing five times a day. I allowed my maid to go out for the day, and we are going to dine at a restaurant.... What a contrast! It seems as if I had been away a month!