“When the curtain rose, and the play began, his admiration and delight became almost painful. The piece was Racine’s ‘Phèdre,’ and the famous Mademoiselle Contat, who performed the part of the wretched wife and mother, was in more senses than one the heroine of the evening. She had just been released from the prison of Fort l’Evêque, where she had been confined for some time, in consequence of having refused to apologize to the Paris parterre, for treating its opinion and authority with contempt. Enthusiasm was at its height on her account. Party spirit had run so high, that duels had been fought between old friends, and _liaisons_ of long standing been broken off, in consequence of differences of opinion with regard to her conduct in this matter. Madame de L——, a great patroness of the drama, had not hesitated at making herself the public talk, by taking to prison, in her open carriage in broad day, and in the face of all Paris, seated on her lap, with dishevelled hair and streaming eyes, the fair and injured Emilie! The new perfume, _larmes de Contat_, had become indispensable. Better go without a pocket-handkerchief at all than produce one which was not redolent of the complicated fragrance. There had been but a single incident to divert from tears and sobs in this adventure. The police-officer, who had been charged with the arrest of Mademoiselle Contat, had found her in the tragic mood, lofty and sullen. ‘Take all!’ she had exclaimed, with theatrical grandeur; ‘you are welcome to take all—my liberty—my very life itself—but you cannot take my honour!’ ‘Fear not, mademoiselle,’ replied the man; ‘_où il n’y a rien, le roi perd ses droits_.’ “Some had laughed at the witticism—others had felt it most deeply, as the unkindest cut of all. In short, her punishment and its cause had created a species of frenzy in the public mind, which had occasioned all minor troubles, whether of politics or finance, to be forgotten for a while. You may judge, then, of the effect produced by the appearance of Mdlle. Contat on the stage of this little _théâtre de bonne compagnie_, before an audience of whom she was the idol, and who had taken her imprisonment as the deepest personal offence to themselves. Every individual in the house rose and greeted her with transport. There was loud clapping of hands, and stamping of feet; and some wept salt tears, and embraced their neighbours lovingly, so great was the common joy, so universal the gratification afforded by the release of the great Contat! Charles Maurice alone remained impassible amid all the clamour, for he knew not what it meant, until the Garde Française gave him a cuff, and bade him shout, or he would pink him, and the perfumed abbé fell upon his neck, and with sobs begged him, for Heaven’s sake, to clap his hands, that he might be quite sure he was not seated next to a corpse, for nothing else could thus long have borne the presence of a beauty so divine without some demonstration of delight.