.

"Wait till he's quite well, Miss," said Lanty, who waited always behind
me. "'Faith! when he's in health, I'd back him to ate a cow, barrin' the
horns and teel." I sent a decanter at the rogue's head, by way of answer
to his impertinence.

Although the disgusting Cambaceres did his best to have my parole
withdrawn from me, and to cause me to be sent to the English depot of
prisoners at Verdun, the Marquis's interest with the Emperor prevailed,
and I was allowed to remain at Paris, the happiest of prisoners, at the
Colonel's hotel at the Place Vendome. I here had the opportunity (an
opportunity not lost, I flatter myself, on a young fellow with the
accomplishments of Philip Fogarty, Esq.) of mixing with the elite of
French society, and meeting with many of the great, the beautiful,
and the brave. Talleyrand was a frequent guest of the Marquis's. His
bon-mots used to keep the table in a roar. Ney frequently took his chop
with us; Murat, when in town, constantly dropt in for a cup of tea and
friendly round game. Alas! who would have thought those two gallant
heads would be so soon laid low? My wife has a pair of earrings which
the latter, who always wore them, presented to her--but we are advancing
matters. Anybody could see, "avec un demioeil," as the Prince of
Benevento remarked, how affairs went between me and Blanche; but though
she loathed him for his cruelties and the odiousness of his person, the
brutal Cambaceres still pursued his designs upon her.

I recollect it was on St. Patrick's Day. My lovely friend had procured,
from the gardens of the Empress Josephine, at Malmaison (whom we loved
a thousand times more than her Austrian successor, a sandy-haired
woman, between ourselves, with an odious squint), a quantity of shamrock
wherewith to garnish the hotel, and all the Irish in Paris were invited
to the national festival.

I and Prince Talleyrand danced a double hornpipe with Pauline Bonaparte
and Madame de Stael; Marshal Soult went down a couple of sets with
Madame Recamier; and Robespierre's widow--an excellent, gentle creature,
quite unlike her husband--stood up with the Austrian ambassador.
Besides, the famous artists Baron Gros, David and Nicholas Poussin, and
Canova, who was in town making a statue of the Emperor for Leo X., and,
in a word, all the celebrities of Paris--as my gifted countrywoman, the
wild Irish girl, calls them--were assembled in the Marquis's elegant
receiving-rooms.

At last a grea