Then they played a sort of farce for their own pleasure, to the great annoyance of the audience.  I will give you a sample of it, so you can have an idea of the wit and good taste displayed by these gentlemen.  The most intoxicated of the young men asked, between two yawns, who were the authors of Antigone? “Sophocles,” said M. de Monbert.  “But there are two, are there not?” “Two Antigones?” said the Prince laughing; “yes, there is Ballanche’s.”  “Ah, yes!  Ballanche, that is his name,” cried out the ignorant creature; “I knew I saw two names on the hand-bill!  Do you know them?”

“I am not acquainted with Sophocles,” said the Prince, becoming more and more jovial, “but I know Ballanche; I have seen him at the Academy.”

This brilliant witticism was wonderfully successful; they all clapped so loud and laughed so hilariously that the audience became very angry, and called out, “Silence!” “Silence!” For a moment the noisy were quiet, but soon they were worse than ever, acting like maniacs.  At the end of each scene, little George de S., who is a mere school-boy, cried out in deafening tones:  “Bravo!  Ballanche!” then turning to the neighboring boxes he said:  “My friends, applaud; you must encourage the author;” and the two bold women clapped their hands and shrieked out, “Let us encourage Ballanche!  Bravo!  Ballanche!” It was absurd.

Madame Taverneau and her friends were indignant; they had heard the compliment bestowed upon us—­“Four women.  Four monsters!” This rapid appreciation of our elegant appearance did not make them feel indulgent towards our scandalous neighbors.  Near us were several newspaper men who gave the names of the Prince de Monbert, the Messrs. de S., and their two beauties.  These journalists spoke with bitter contempt of what they called the young lions of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, of the rude manners of the aristocracy, of the ridiculous scruples of those proud legitimists, who feared to compromise themselves in the interests of their country, and yet were compromised daily by a thousand extravagances; then they related falsehoods that were utterly without foundation, and yet were made to appear quite probable by the disgraceful conduct of the young men before us.  You may imagine how cruelly I suffered, both as a fiancee and as a legitimist.  I blushed for our party in the presence of the enemy; I felt the insult offered to me personally less than I did the abuse brought upon our cause.  In listening to those deserved sneers I detested Messrs. de S. as much as I did Roger.  I decided during this hour of vexation and shame that I would rather always remain simple Madame Gruerin than become the Princess de Monbert.

What do you think of this despair, the result of champagne?  Ought I not to be touched by it?  How sweet it is to see one’s self so deeply regretted!