Among the crowd wandered Leverrier, in the costume of Academician, looking as if he had lost, not found, his planet.  French savants are more generally men of the world, and even men of fashion, than those of other climates; but, in his case, he seemed not to find it easy to exchange the music of the spheres for the music of fiddles.

Speaking of Leverrier leads to another of my disappointments.  I went to the Sorbonne to hear him lecture, nothing dreaming that the old pedantic and theological character of those halls was strictly kept up in these days of light.  An old guardian of the inner temple, seeing me approach, had his speech all ready, and, manning the entrance, said with a disdainful air, before we had time to utter a word, “Monsieur may enter if he pleases, but Madame must remain here” (i.e. in the court-yard).  After some exclamations of surprise, I found an alternative in the Hotel de Clugny, where I passed an hour very delightfully while waiting for my companion.  The rich remains of other centuries are there so arranged that they can be seen to the best advantage; many of the works in ivory, china, and carved wood are truly splendid or exquisite.  I saw a dagger with jewelled hilt which talked whole poems to my mind.  In the various “Adorations of the Magi,” I found constantly one of the wise men black, and with the marked African lineaments.  Before I had half finished, my companion came and wished me at least to visit the lecture-rooms of the Sorbonne, now that the talk, too good for female ears, was over.  But the guardian again interfered to deny me entrance.  “You can go, Madame,” said he, “to the College of France; you can go to this and t’other place, but you cannot enter here.”  “What, sir,” said I, “is it your institution alone that remains in a state of barbarism?” “Que voulez vous, Madame?” he replied, and, as he spoke, his little dog began to bark at me,—­“Que voulez vous, Madame? c’est la regle,”—­“What would you have, Madam?  IT IS THE RULE,”—­a reply which makes me laugh even now, as I think how the satirical wits of former days might have used it against the bulwarks of learned dulness.

I was more fortunate in hearing Arago, and he justified all my expectations.  Clear, rapid, full and equal, his discourse is worthy its celebrity, and I felt repaid for the four hours one is obliged to spend in going, in waiting, and in hearing; for the lecture begins at half past one, and you must be there before twelve to get a seat, so constant and animated is his popularity.

I have attended, with some interest, two discussions at the Athenee,—­one on Suicide, the other on the Crusades.  They are amateur affairs, where, as always at such times, one hears much, nonsense and vanity, much making of phrases and sentimental grimace; but there was one excellent speaker, adroit and rapid as only a Frenchman could be.  With admirable readiness, skill, and rhetorical polish, he examined the arguments of all the others, and built upon their