That year, '56-'57, was a very important time in my life in many ways. I received an invitation to a ball at the Tuileries, engraved in the usual style, on a card a foot square, and bearing the enormous seal of the Second Empire. For the first time in my life I appeared in borrowed plumes. I hired what I call a "flunkey" suit, and paid forty-five francs for it. In this I was presented. It was not a civil nor a military suit, but a sort of mongrel affair, that served me as a court costume. Of course, my wife appeared in proper evening dress. There were four thousand persons present, the highest in the society of Paris, military and civil--ambassadors in their regalia, regimental officers in their different uniforms, and the aristocracy in their robes. There were also Algerian officers. Although the Tuileries was very large, the four thousand guests found themselves in much crowded rooms. During this reception and ball I suddenly felt some cold substance going down my back. Putting my hand to my neck, I found there a cupful of ice-cream that an Algerian officer had dropped, with the usual "Pardon, monsieur." I assured him it was all right, but the ice-cream gave me a decidedly boreal feeling. The ball was in the usual court style, and I shall not undertake to describe it. After some time had passed, all at once there was silence, instead of the terrible hum. It was the presage of something important, I felt sure. The wax candles in the chandeliers burned brilliantly, and we were all on the _qui vive_ to know what was coming. Looking toward the great folding doors at the end of the hall, a lady appeared. It was the age of crinoline, and she must have had a circumference of eight feet. She was the Emperor's favorite, the Countess Castiglione. The sensation she made was tremendous. I should mention that before this happened I had been presented to the Empress. We were all ranged in diplomatic order for presentation, and when it came my turn she seemed particularly courteous, saying in English to me: "You speak French very fluently." To this I replied: "When I am able to speak French, your Majesty, as well as you speak English, I shall be willing to trust myself in that language. In the meanwhile let me ask you to talk as you prefer." All those presented seemed surprised to see me talking with the Empress, as it was, I believe, unusual for a foreigner and a newcomer to be thus honored. She was very gracious, and made me feel as much at home as if I had been in my own family. The introduction of the crinoline had been made by the Empress before the birth of the Prince Imperial. Anti-Imperialists had been busy gossiping about the coming event, and intimated that it was impossible the Emperor could become the father of a child.