thou to me, and bade me reply in the same way.  We gave each other fictitious names, the Emperor calling himself Auguste; the Duke de Frioul, Francois; the superior officer, whose name escapes me, Charles; while I was Joseph.  As soon as his Majesty saw a domino similar to the one the femme de chambre had described, he pressed my arm and said, “Is that she?”—­“No, Si—–­ no, Auguste,” replied I, constantly correcting myself; for it was impossible to accustom myself to calling the Emperor otherwise than Sire or your Majesty.  He had, as I have said, expressly ordered me to tutoy him; but he was every moment compelled to repeat this order to me, for respect tied my tongue every time I tried to say tu.  At last, after having gone in every direction, explored every corner and nook of the saloon, the green-room, the boxes, etc., in fact, examined everything, and looked each costume over in detail, his Majesty, who was no more successful in recognizing her Majesty than were we, began to feel great anxiety, which I, however, succeeded in allaying by telling him that doubtless the Empress had gone to change her costume.  As I was speaking, a domino arrived who seemed enamoured of the Emperor, accosted him, mystified him, tormented him in every way, and with so much vivacity that Auguste was beside himself; and it is impossible to give even a faint idea of the comical sight the Emperor presented in his embarrassment.  The domino, delighted at this, redoubled her wit and raillery until, thinking it time to cease, she disappeared in the crowd.

The Emperor was completely exasperated; he had seen enough, and we left the ball.

The next morning when he saw the Empress, he remarked, “Well, you did not go to the opera ball, after all!”—­“Oh, yes, indeed I did.”—­“Nonsense!” —­“I assure you that I went.  And you, my dear, what did you do all the evening?”—­“I worked.”—­“Why, that is very singular; for I saw at the ball last night a domino who had exactly your foot and boots.  I took him for you, and consequently addressed him.”  The Emperor laughed heartily on learning that he had been thus duped; the Empress, just as she left for the ball, had changed her costume, not thinking the first sufficiently elegant.

The carnival was extremely brilliant this year, and there were in Paris all kinds of masquerades.  The most amusing were those in which the theory advocated by the famous Doctor Gall [Franz Joseph Gall, founder of the system of phrenology.  Born in Baden, 1758; died in Paris, 1825] was illustrated.  I saw a troop passing the Place du Carrousel, composed of clowns, harlequins, fishwives, etc., all rubbing their skulls, and making expressive grimaces; while a clown bore several skulls of different sizes, painted red, blue, or green, with these inscriptions:  Skull of a robber, skull of an assassin, skull of a bankrupt, etc.; and a masked figure, representing Doctor Gall, was seated on an ass, his head turned to the animal’s tail, and receiving from the hands of a woman who followed him, and was also seated on an ass, heads covered with wigs made of long grass.