that I was quite nervous.  I mustn’t sit too high up or I would gener him, as he was obliged to shoot down for the rabbits; and I mustn’t sit too near the ground, or I might get a shot in the ankles from one of the other men.  I can’t say it was an absolute pleasure.  The seat (if seat it could be called) was anything but comfortable, and the detonation of the gun just over my head was decidedly trying; still it was a novelty, and if the other women could stand it I could.

For the second battue I went with Comte de B. That was rather worse, for he shot much oftener than W., and I was quite distracted with the noise of the gun.  We were nearer the other shooters, too, and I fancied their aim was very near my ankles.  It was a pretty view from the top of the ladder.  I climbed up when the battues were over.  We looked over the park and through the trees, quite bare and stripped of their leaves, on the great plains, with hardly a break of wood or hills, stretching away to the horizon.  The ground was thickly carpeted with red and yellow leaves, little columns of smoke rising at intervals where people were burning weeds or rotten wood in the fields; and just enough purple mist to poetize everything.  B. is a very careful shot.  I was with him the first day at a rabbit battue where we were placed rather near each other, and every man was asked to keep quite to his own place and to shoot straight before him.  After one or two shots B. stepped back and gave his gun to his servant.  I asked what was the matter.  He showed me the man next, evidently not used to shooting, who was walking up and down, shooting in every direction, and as fast as he could cram the cartridges into his gun.  So he stepped back into the alley and waited until the battue was over.

The party was much smaller that night at dinner.  Every one went away but W. and me.  The talk was most interesting—­all about the war, the first days of the Assemblee Nationale at Bordeaux, and the famous visit of the Comte de Chambord to Versailles, when the Marechal de MacMahon, President of the Republic, refused to see him.  I told them of my first evening visit to Mme. Thiers, the year I was married.  Mme. Thiers lived in a big gloomy house in the Place St. Georges, and received every evening.  M. Thiers, who was a great worker all his life and a very early riser, always took a nap at the end of the day.  The ladies (Mlle. Dosne, a sister of Mme. Thiers, lived with them) unfortunately had not that good habit.  They took their little sleep after dinner.  We arrived there (it was a long way from us, we lived near the Arc de l’Etoile) one evening a little before ten.  There were already four or five men, no ladies.  We were shown into a large drawing-room, M. Thiers standing with his back to the fireplace, the centre of a group of black coats.  He was very amiable, said I would find Mme. Thiers in a small salon just at the end of the big one; told W. to join their group, he had something