had some difficulty in making our way through the crowd of carriages, soldiers, police, and spectators that lined the road.  It was a beautiful sight as we got near the palace, which was a blaze of light.  The terraces and gardens were also illuminated, and the effect of the little lamps hidden away in the branches of the old trees, cut into all sorts of fantastic shapes, was quite wonderful.  There were not as many people at the entrance of the palace as we had expected to find, for the invitations had been most generously given to all nationalities.  At first the rooms, which were brilliantly lighted, looked almost empty.  The famous Galerie des Glaces was quite enchanting, almost too light, if there can be too much light at a fete.  There were very few people in it when we arrived rather early—­so much so that when I said to M. de L., one of the marshal’s aides-de-camp, “How perfectly beautiful it is, even now, empty; what will it be when all the uniforms and jewels are reflected in the mirrors,” his answer was:  “Ah, Madame, I am afraid we shan’t have people enough, the hall is so enormous.”

I thought of him afterward when an angry crowd was battering at the doors of one of the salons where the royalties were having refreshments.  I don’t think they realised, and we certainly didn’t, what the noise meant, but some of the marshal’s household, who knew that only a slight temporary partition was between us and an irate mob, struggling up the staircase, were green with anxiety.  However, the royalties all got away without any difficulty, and we tried to hurry immediately after them, but a dense crowd was then pouring into the room at each end, and for a moment things looked ugly.  The gentlemen, my husband and my brother-in-law, Eugene Schuyler, Lord Lyons, British ambassador (a big square-shouldered man), and one or two others, put us, my sister Schuyler and me, in a recess of one of the big windows, with heavy furniture in front of us, but that was not very pleasant—­with the crowd moving both ways closing in upon us—­and the men were getting nervous, so one of our secretaries squeezed through the crowd and found two or three huissiers, came back with them, and we made a procession—­two big huissiers in front, with their silver chains and swords, the mark of official status, which always impresses a French crowd, then Lord Lyons, my sister, and I, then W. and Schuyler, and two more men behind us—­and with considerable difficulty and a good many angry expostulations, we made our way out.  Happily our carriages and servants with our wraps were waiting in one of the inner courts, and we got away easily enough, but the evening was disastrous to most of the company.