Mornay formed a singular contrast to all those of whom I have been speaking. Mornay was elegant and aristocratic, he was the _gentry_ personified, and, in addition to all these qualifications, he had as much wit as all the rest of us put together. When Mornay was appointed plenipotentiary, and left first for the grand-duchy of Baden, and afterwards for Sweden, Mademoiselle Mars lost the brightest star of her salon. There are minds which possess the qualities of well-seasoned tinder, and set fire to all around with whom they come in contact; Mornay was one of these; the rest of us served him for flint. When, perchance, he happened to be too fatigued to use his own wits, he counted on our supplying his deficiency. Mornay had no fortune; but Mademoiselle Mars left him an income of 40,000 livres per annum at her death. He took down a portrait of her, which he carried away with him, remarking, "That is the only thing to which I have a right here," and he left the 40,000 livres per annum to the heirs of Mademoiselle Mars. Mademoiselle Mars at the theatre, and Mademoiselle Mars in her private home, were two quite different beings. On the stage, her voice was entrancing, almost like a song, and her looks were endearing and soft, full of bewitching charm. At home, her voice was harsh, she looked almost hard and her movements were brusque and impatient. Her theatrical voice was acquired, an instrument on which she had been taught to play and which she played marvellously well, but she rightly mistrusted it when she had to express great crises of passion, or to give effect to great heights of poesy; she was afraid then of straining her gentle notes, and she almost envied Madame Dorval her hoarse, raucous voice which enabled her to utter piteous cries that went straight to the heart. I never knew anyone who was more modest about her talents than was Mademoiselle Mars: she never spoke of herself, her triumphs, or her creations; she admired her father, Mouvel, profoundly; she was his pupil, and it gave her evident pleasure to talk of him. She was also a great admirer of Mademoiselle Contat, and it was odd to hear her confessing her inferiority to this great actress, in regard to certain points of art. I cannot say if all the tales told about the age of Mademoiselle Mars be true, but I know she never concealed a week of it from her friends. She had a marble sculpture by Boule, in her salon, which had been given by Queen Marie-Antoinette to her mother because they had both been confined on the same day. Therefore, Mademoiselle Mars must have been exactly the same age as the Duchesse d'Angoulême, who was born on 19 December 1778. When Mademoiselle Mars liked, she could be charming, for she possessed a great fund of humour; her voice was just the voice that could imitate, and when she criticised the members of the Comédie-Française, from Mademoiselle Plessy to Ligier, it was tersely but capitally done. She showed much kindness towards and