When the Prussian army entered Paris, one of its officers made particular interest to be quartered in a certain hotel in the Faubourg St Germain, the residence of a widow lady of rank. On taking possession of his billet, the Colonel at once haughtily refused the apartments offered him; and, after a survey of the premises, insisted on having the best suite on the first floor, then occupied by the lady of the house herself. She protested and entreated in vain--the Colonel was harsh and peremptory,--the lady had to abandon her sitting-room, boudoir, and bed-room, and content herself with the chambers intended for the officer. From these, however, she was as rudely dislodged on the next day, the Colonel demanding them for his orderly, and the lady had at last to creep into a servant's garret. This was not all. On first taking possession of his rooms the officer had summoned the _maitre d'hotel_, and commanded a rich dinner of twelve covers for the entertainment of a party of his comrades. They came--the cellar had to yield its choicest wines; the house was filled with bacchanalian uproar. The orgy was repeated both on the next day and on the next following. On the morning afterwards the officer presented himself before the lady of the house. "You are perhaps somewhat annoyed by my proceedings in your hotel?" "Certainly," was the reply, "I think I have cause to complain of the manner in which the law of the strongest has been used here, in defiance of the commonest regard due to my sex and age. I have been roughly expelled from every habitable room in my own house, and thrust into a garret; my servants have been maltreated; with my plate and provisions and the best of my cellar, you have forced them to wait on the riotous feasting of your comrades. I have appealed to your generosity, to your courtesy, but in vain. I protest against such conduct. It is unworthy of a soldier." "Madam," replied the Prussian, "what you say is perfectly true. Such conduct is brutal and unbecoming. I have the honor to inform you that what you have justly complained of for the last three days is but a faint copy of the manner in which your son daily behaved himself in my mother's house in Berlin _for more than six months_ after the Battle of Jena. From me you shall have no further annoyance. I shall now retire to an inn. The hotel is entirely at your own disposal." The lady blushed, and was silent. We can hardly choose amiss among the portrait sketches. Here is the Princess of Chimay, once celebrated as the fair Spanish Cabarus--or Madame Tallien of the "18th Brumaire." After giving up a name which she had no legal right to bear, she married the Count Caraman before he succeeded to a princely title. In 1818, this heroine--