She and her family are at one end of the quarter which is known here as _La Terrasse_, while I am at the other. [47] The Duchesse de Talleyrand had an innate and instinctive fear of cats which she was never able to conquer. _Nice, December 22, 1841._--Yesterday I called upon the Grand Duchess Stephanie between lunch and dinner; she is spending the winter here with her daughter. She took me for a drive in her carriage upon the jetty in weather which reminded me of the Chain Pier at Brighton. The Grand Duchess has excellent rooms at some distance from the sea in the midst of a charming garden, with a beautiful view of the mountains; the house is well furnished, cheerful and clean, exactly the contrary to mine and very little more expensive. The Grand Duchess is infinitely better since she took the waters of Wildbad, but her restlessness and the fidgety and flighty nature of her conversation which her disease had checked have reappeared with an emphasis really annoying. I had no letters from Paris yesterday: a rise in the river has carried away the boats and made the ford impassable, so that was impossible to pass the Var two hours after the time when we crossed it. _Nice, December 24, 1841._--Yesterday I met a large number of acquaintances at the house of the Grand Duchess, but few worth mentioning apart from the de Maistre family. She puts on her cards, _la comtesse Azelia de Maistre, née de Sieyès_. The two names look strange side by side; however, she seems a very pleasant person, while he has the wit of that particular kind which his name implies. _Nice, December 25, 1841._--Yesterday after lunch I took my niece and the Castellanes to Saint Charles, in the most beautiful weather. The sun was almost too warm and the short walk threw one into a perspiration; the sky was magnificent and the view beautiful, and the smell of the roses, the violets and the orange flowers intoxicating. On returning to the town I left a few cards, and went home to rest, for the burning sun and the keen sea air were most fatiguing. There is a strange custom here. On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and throughout the intervening night, cannons are fired every half-hour; bands of sailors and country people go about the streets singing and howling and making the most horrible din; for twenty-four hours this uproar has never ceased for a moment and I should think no one has had a wink of sleep.