Well, my Dear, I opened my bazaar yesterday, and you will be surprised to hear that I was rather nervous--only for one moment, I must say, when they asked me, after one or two speeches and a little "Marseillaise," if I would pronounce the sacramental phrase and declare the bazaar open. I, with the committee, was seated in a red chair on the platform. When I got up (the only person standing) and saw the crowd of faces beneath me looking hard at me, for a moment I was shy, but that didn't last. They all cheered me, so I recovered myself and made my statement, I think in a clear voice. W. jibed at me well afterward when I told him. I made a tour of the bazaar, buying something at each stall, Lecomte bringing up the rear, carrying a large doll. Do you remember what Lasteyrie used to say when he was W.'s Chef de Cabinet at l'Instruction Publique--that one of his principal functions was to accompany Madame Waddington to all the "Ventes de Charite" carrying a "paquet de chemises de femme," which means that I get so tired of all the fancy boxes, and pin-cushions, and screens I accumulate at the various sales that I finally asked for "layettes" and "vetements de pauvres." Of course I can never have too many in the country. I was amused to hear one of my friends here who collects for the numerous "guilds" dilate upon the _smallness_ of the objects sent her. She says she receives dresses and "brassieres" (a sort of body with sleeves) that would go on _no_ child of any age that she has ever seen. It is rather my own experience--people usually give me very minute garments, also in the most delicate colours, and my children work in the fields and at the "tourbieres." After we had visited all the stalls we had tea (not in a private room) at a round table at one end of the hall near the buffet. M. Dupoutet de la Harpe, the Protestant pasteur who got up the bazaar, explaining that the people would so like to see us. I am always very dressy on those occasions, so I was dressed in black satin with a great deal of jet, and light blue feathers in my bonnet. I had just time to get home, have some tea, and see that my "orgue Mustel" had arrived and was properly placed and tuned to go with the piano, and to assist at a small rehearsal with M. Guillemain (organist at La Trinite in Paris), for whom I am having a dinner to-night, Merindol, and Miss Stuart, an American girl who has a fine voice. The "orgue Mustel" is small and looks like a harmonium, but it has wonderful tones, particularly when played by a master hand like Guillemain's.