rtege was magnificent, the costumes of the princes and their ladies
resplendent. To increase its richness, the Dauphiness had lent not only
her own jewels, but a part of those of the crown. The invited guests
not taking part in the cortege occupied places already assigned them.
They wore a uniform costume of silver gauze and white satin. This
coolness of tone produced a charming effect when at the arrival of the
cortege all rose. In the ball-room a platform had been prepared with a
throne for Mary Stuart. The Duchess of Berry, as the famous queen, wore
with great grace a dazzling toilet--crown of diamonds, high collar,
blue velvet robe with wide sleeves, front of white satin bordered with
ermine. The Duke of Chartres, a handsome boy and brilliant cavalier, as
King Francis II., wore a cap with white plumes, and a dark blue velvet
doublet with ornaments of gold. His brother, the Duke of Nemours,
fourteen years old, was in the character of a page to the King, with a
white satin doublet, and recalled in his features the youth of Henry
IV. The Duchess of Berry, playing to perfection her role of queen,
advanced to the throne. The Duke of Chartres gave her his hand to
ascend the steps. Then she made a sign to be seated; but the young
Prince remained standing. Placing himself behind the throne, and
removing his cap with white plumes, he bowed low and said: "Madame, I
know my place." The Duchess of Gontaut spoke to the Duchess of Orleans,
and asked her if she had remarked the tact of her son the Prince. "I
remarked it," replied the Princess, "and I approve of it."

The ball commenced. There was present a great Scotch lord, the Marquis
of Huntley, who belonged to a very illustrious Jacobite house. In his
youth he had been what was then called a beau danseur, and had had the
honor of opening a fancy dress ball at the Chateau of Versailles with
the Queen Marie Antoinette. Charles X. remembered it and wished that
the Marquis, then nearly eighty, should open the ball with little
Mademoiselle, who was but nine. Still a beau danseur, the old
Englishman had not forgotten the pirouettes of Versailles; all the
court admired, and the young princes were greatly amused.

The ball was a marvellous success. It was a revival of the beautiful
fetes of the Renaissance. The sixteenth century, so elegant, so
picturesque, lived anew. A painter, who was then but twenty-nine, and
who had already a great vogue, M. Eugene Lamy, perpetuated its memory
i