There are a great many balls here, notwithstanding the court mourning. Out of respect, every one wears black gloves. The opening events at the Senate are causing considerable anxiety. People are wondering whether the Ministry will hold on, or whether there will be another _coup d’État_. The opposition is bitterly incensed, and proposes to give the comte de San-Luis a good cudgelling. The house where I am stopping is neutral ground, where the ministers and leaders of the opposition meet, which is very interesting for those who like to hear the news. It is a fact, that what is known here as society is composed of such a small number of persons that if they were divided up, they would have no means of gaining a livelihood. Whatever one does in Madrid, provided one goes to a public place, he is sure of meeting the same three hundred persons. The result is a very amusing society, infinitely less hypocritical than elsewhere. I must tell you a good story. It is the custom here to offer anything that is praised. At dinner, the other day, I was seated next to the Prime Minister’s sweetheart: she is as stupid as a cabbage, and very big. Her beautiful shoulders were bare, and around them hung a garland with tassels of metal or glass. Not knowing what to say to her, I praised both shoulders and garland, to which she replied: “Both are at your service.” Good-bye. Write me longer letters. I might, in an extreme case, hear from you again here; but I shall hope certainly to find a letter from you at Bayonne. Why is it that I am so anxious to see you again? At the same time, it is excessively irritating to submit to your protocols, which, for contempt of logic and reason, are worthy of those of M. de Nesselrode. CLVII PARIS, _July 29, 1854_. I arrived here day before yesterday, and have not written before because I have been too sad. One of my boyhood friends has taken the cholera. To-day he is considered out of danger. In crossing the Channel, there was an icy wind, which gave me a cold, or something like rheumatism. My chest feels as if it were clasped in an iron band, and every movement is accompanied by severe pain. I am obliged, however, to leave to-night for Normandy, where I am to make a speech to the idlers of Cayenne. This troublesome business finished, I shall hasten home as quickly as possible, and I expect to reach Paris on the evening of August 2d. After that, I have no settled plans. At one time I had formed some idea of spending a month in Venice, but the quarantine regulations, and other annoyances rendered necessary by the cholera, make a journey in that direction almost impossible.