The Duchesse de Berri has an animated and peculiarly good-natured expression of countenance.  Her restored gaiety makes the French forget why it was long and cruelly overclouded, and aids the many good qualities which she possesses, in securing the popularity she has so generally acquired in the country of her adoption.

House-hunting again, and still unsuited.  Dined yesterday at the Duchesse de Guiche’s; a very pleasant party, increased by some agreeable people in the evening.  Our old acquaintance, William Lock, was among the guests at dinner, and is as good-looking and light-hearted as ever.

The Marquis l’Esperance de l’Aigle was also present, and is a perfect specimen of the fine gentleman of la Vieille Cour—­a race now nearly extinct.  Possessing all the gaiety and vivacity of youth, with that attention to the feelings of others peculiar only to maturity and high-breeding, the Count l’Esperance de l’Aigle is universally beloved.

He can talk over old times with the grand-mother with all the wit that we read of, oftener than we meet with; give his opinion of la derniere mode to the youthful mother, with rare tact and good taste; dance with the young daughter as actively and gracefully as any garcon de dix-huit ans in Paris; and gallop through the Bois de Boulogne with the young men who pride themselves on their riding, without being ever left behind.  I had frequently heard his praises from the Duchesse de Guiche, and found that her description of him was very accurate.

The house of the Duc de Guiche is a picture of English comfort and French elegance united; and that portion of it appropriated to its fair mistress is fitted up with exquisite taste.  Her salons and boudoir are objects of vertu, bijouterie, and vases of old Sevre, enough to excite envy in those who can duly appreciate such treasures, and tempt to the violation of the tenth commandment.  Order reigns in the whole arrangement of the establishment, which, possessing all the luxurious appliances of a maison montee, has all the scrupulous cleanliness of that of a Quaker.

Went to the Opera last night, where I saw the debut of the new danseuse Taglioni.  Hers is a totally new style of dancing; graceful beyond all comparison, wonderful lightness, an absence of all violent effort, or at least of the appearance of it, and a modesty as new as it is delightful to witness in her art.  She seems to float and bound like a sylph across the stage, never executing those tours de force that we know to be difficult and wish were impossible, being always performed at the expense of decorum and grace, and requiring only activity for their achievement.

She excited the most rapturous applause, and received it with a “decent dignity,” very unlike the leering smiles with which, in general, a danseuse thinks it necessary to advance to the front of the proscenium, shewing all her teeth, as she lowly courtesies to the audience.