There is very little informal receiving, no more evenings with no amusement of any kind provided, and a small table at one end of the room with orangeade and cakes, which I remember when I was first married (and always in Lent the quartet of the Conservatoire playing classical symphonies, which of course put a stop to all conversation, as people listened to the artists of the Conservatoire in a sort of sacred silence).  Now one is invited each time, there is always music or a comedie, sometimes a conference in Lent, and a buffet in the dining-room.  There is much more luxury, and women wear more jewels.  There were not many tiaras when I first knew Paris society; now every young woman has one in her corbeille.

[Illustration:  The foyer of the Opera.]

One of the first big things I saw in Paris was the opening of the Grand Opera.  It was a pretty sight, the house crowded with women beautifully dressed and wearing fine jewels which showed very little, the decoration of the house being very elaborate.  There was so much light and gilding that the diamonds were quite lost.  The two great features of the evening were the young King of Spain (the father of the present King), a slight, dark, youthful figure, and the Lord Mayor of London, who really made much more effect than the King.  He was dressed in his official robes, had two sheriffs and a macebearer, and when he stood at the top of the grand staircase he was an imposing figure and the public was delighted with him.  He was surrounded by an admiring crowd when he walked in the foyer.  Everybody was there and W. pointed out to me the celebrities of all the coteries.  We had a box at the opera and went very regularly.  The opera was never good, never has been since I have known it, but as it is open all the year round, one cannot expect to have the stars one hears elsewhere.  Still it is always a pleasant evening, one sees plenty of people to talk to and the music is a cheerful accompaniment to conversation.  It is astounding how they talk in the boxes and how the public submits.  The ballet is always good.  Halanzier was director of the Grand Opera, and we went sometimes to his box behind the scenes, which was most amusing.  He was most dictatorial, occupied himself with every detail,—­was consequently an excellent director.  I remember seeing him inspect the corps de ballet one night, just before the curtain went up.  He passed down the line like a general reviewing his troops, tapping lightly with a cane various arms and legs which were not in position.  He was perfectly smiling and good-humoured:  “Voyons, voyons, mes petites, ce n’est pas cela,”—­but saw everything.

What W. liked best was the Theatre Francais.  We hadn’t a box there, but as so many of our friends had, we went very often.  Tuesday was the fashionable night and the Salle was almost as interesting as the stage, particularly if it happened to be a premiere, and all the critics and journalists were there.  Sarah Bernhardt and Croizette were both playing those first years.  They were great rivals and it was interesting to see them in the same play, both such fine talents yet so totally different.