de Triomphe stands in the Place de l’Etoile at the top of the Champs-Elysees.  All the great avenues, Alma, Jena, Kleber, and the adjacent streets are known as the Quartier de l’Etoile.  It was before the days of telephones, so whenever an important communication was to be made to him when he was at home in the evening, a dragoon galloped up with his little black bag from which he extracted his papers.  It made quite an excitement in our quiet street the first time he arrived after ten o’clock.  We just managed our morning ride, and then there were often people waiting to speak to W. before we started, and always when he came back.  There was a great amount of patronage attached to his ministry, nominations to all the universities, lycees, schools, etc., and, what was most agreeable to me, boxes at all the government theatres,—­the Grand Opera, Opera Comique, Francais, Odeon, and Conservatoire.  Every Monday morning we received the list for the week, and, after making our own selection, distributed them to the official world generally,—­sometimes to our own personal friends.  The boxes of the Francais, Opera, and Conservatoire were much appreciated.

I went very regularly to the Sunday afternoon concerts at the Conservatoire, where all classical music was splendidly given.  They confined themselves generally to the strictly classic, but were beginning to play a little Schumann that year.  Some of the faces of the regular habitues became most familiar to me.  There were three or four old men with grey hair sitting in the first row of stalls (most uncomfortable seats) who followed every note of the music, turning around and frowning at any unfortunate person in a box who dropped a fan or an opera-glass.  It was funny to hear the hum of satisfaction when any well-known movement of Beethoven or Mozart was attacked.  The orchestra was perfect, at its best I think in the “scherzos” which they took in beautiful style—­so light and sure.  I liked the instrumental part much better than the singing.  French voices, the women’s particularly, are thin, as a rule.  I think they sacrifice too much to the “diction,”—­don’t bring out the voices enough—­but the style and training are perfect of their kind.

The Conservatoire is quite as much a social feature as a school of music.  It was the thing to do on Sunday afternoon.  No invitation was more appreciated, as it was almost impossible to have places unless one was invited by a friend.  All the boxes and seats (the hall is small) belong to subscribers and have done so for one or two generations.  Many marriages are made there.  There are very few theatres in Paris to which girls can be taken, but the Opera Comique and the Conservatoire are very favourite resorts.  When a marriage is pending the young lady, very well dressed (always in the simplest tenue de jeune fille) is taken to the Conservatoire or the Opera Comique by her father and mother, and very often her grandmother.  She sits in front of the box and the young man in