lstered in
the same yellow damask with white flowers which drapes the windows,
and which is lined there with a white silk that looks as though it were
watered. The panels over the doors have been painted, by what artist
I can't say, but they represent one a sunrise, the other a moonlight
scene.

The fireplace is a very interesting feature in the room. It is easy to
see that life in the last century centered largely round the hearth,
where great events were enacted. The copper gilt grate is a marvel
of workmanship, and the mantelpiece is most delicately finished; the
fire-irons are beautifully chased; the bellows are a perfect gem.
The tapestry of the screen comes from the Gobelins and is exquisitely
mounted; charming fantastic figures run all over the frame, on the feet,
the supporting bar, and the wings; the whole thing is wrought like a
fan.

Dearly should I like to know who was the giver of this dainty work of
art, which was such a favorite with her. How often have I seen the old
lady, her feet upon the bar, reclining in the easy-chair, with her dress
half raised in front, toying with the snuff-box, which lay upon the
ledge between her box of pastilles and her silk mits. What a coquette
she was! to the day of her death she took as much pains with her
appearance as though the beautiful portrait had been painted only
yesterday, and she were waiting to receive the throng of exquisites from
the Court! How the armchair recalls to me the inimitable sweep of her
skirts as she sank back in it!

These women of a past generation have carried off with them secrets
which are very typical of their age. The Princess had a certain turn
of the head, a way of dropping her glance and her remarks, a choice of
words, which I look for in vain, even in my mother. There was subtlety
in it all, and there was good-nature; the points were made without any
affectation. Her talk was at once lengthy and concise; she told a good
story, and could put her meaning in three words. Above all, she was
extremely free-thinking, and this has undoubtedly had its effect on my
way of looking at things.

From seven years old till I was ten, I never left her side; it pleased
her to attract me as much as it pleased me to go. This preference was
the cause of more than one passage at arms between her and my mother,
and nothing intensifies feeling like the icy breath of persecution. How
charming was her greeting, "Here you are, little rogue!" when curiosity