In the shadow of the crimson curtains stand the Marquis and Madame de Chambrun. The marquis is an attache of the French legation; the madame is the granddaughter of General Lafayette, and one of the most attractive women in Washington. Nature meant to make her a blonde, but forgot herself and kept on with the bleaching process. One cannot help in contemplation wondering whether her soul is as white and transparent as the casket. She inherits her grandfather’s love for republican principles. The madame has been only a short time in the country, but the marquis has been here, more or less, for quite a number of years. It is said that he is writing a history of our Republic. He has always been connected with the European press, and ranks high as a literary man at home. Just beyond the marquis in the offing might have been seen Admiral Goldsborough, heavy and ponderous as one of his own war vessels, and carrying nobody knows how many guns. He wheezed and puffed as if there was something the matter with his machinery, but all persons present seemed unaware of danger, and no sign of an explosion or accident took place. Mrs. Goldsborough accompanied her stately husband, apparently a fitting consort in time of war or peace. “Ad Interim” Thomas was there in the brightest of military buttons and army blue. He looked as harmless as one of the wooden guns at Manassas, and it was impossible to believe that he was the same “Ad Interim” that once shook the Republic from center to circumference. A fine looking woman clung to his arm, but whether it was Mrs. “Ad Interim,” or another the writer failed to discover. A handsome Virginia member of Congress was there who looked as if he carried the regal blood of that proud Commonwealth in his veins. He had the courtly bearing which history attributes to the Randolphs, but, fearful that he might be a carpetbagger, his name was not ascertained. Secretary Boutwell was present, accompanied by his daughter, a good, sensible-looking New England girl, who bears the same relation to the picture made of her in _Harper’s Bazaar_ that any small circle does to a large one. She is her father’s hope and her mother’s joy, but she is not Secretary of the Treasury. The Marine Band discoursed some very bad music, considering what is expected of what ought to be the most perfect musical organization in the country. The Marine Band has sadly deteriorated of late, and it would be well for the people in power to make excellence in this, as well as all other things, a distinction of national favor. OLIVIA. OFFICIAL ETIQUETTE. RULES THEREFOR AS DRAWN BY PRESIDENT WASHINGTON--THE EXISTING CODE. WASHINGTON, _February 10, 1870_.