ame they haven't got a Sir Joshua or two. At a
feast of painters he has a right to a place, and at the high table
too. Do you remember Tom Rogers, of Gandish's? He used to come to my
rooms--my other rooms in the Square. Tom is here with a fine carrotty
beard, and a velvet jacket, cut open at the sleeves, to show that Tom
has a shirt. I dare say it was clean last Sunday. He has not learned
French yet, but pretends to have forgotten English; and promises to
introduce me to a set of the French artists his camarades. There seems
to be a scarcity of soap among these young fellows; and I think I shall
cut off my mustachios; only Warrington will have nothing to laugh at
when I come home.

"The Colonel and I went to dine at the Cafe de Paris, and afterwards to
the opera. Ask for huitres de Marenne when you dine here. We dined with
a tremendous French swell, the Vicomte de Florac, officier d'ordonnance
to one of the princes, and son of some old friends of my father's.
They are of very high birth, but very poor. He will be a duke when his
cousin, the Duc d'Ivry, dies. His father is quite old. The vicomte was
born in England. He pointed out to us no end of famous people at the
opera--a few of the Fauxbourg St. Germain, and ever so many of the
present people:--M. Thiers, and Count Mole, and Georges Sand, and Victor
Hugo, and Jules Janin--I forget half their names. And yesterday we went
to see his mother, Madame de Florac. I suppose she was an old flame of
the Colonel's, for their meeting was uncommonly ceremonious and tender.
It was like an elderly Sir Charles Grandison saluting a middle-aged Miss
Byron. And only fancy! the Colonel has been here once before since his
return to England! It must have been last year, when he was away for ten
days, whilst I was painting that rubbishing picture of the Black Prince
waiting on King John. Madame de F. is a very grand lady, and must have
been a great beauty in her time. There are two pictures by Gerard in her
salon--of her and M. de Florac. M. de Florac, old swell, powder, thick
eyebrows, hooked nose; no end of stars, ribbons, and embroidery. Madame
also in the dress of the Empire--pensive, beautiful, black velvet, and a
look something like my cousin's. She wore a little old-fashioned brooch
yesterday, and said, 'Voila, la reconnoissez-vous? Last year when you
were here, it was in the country;' and she smiled at him: and the dear
old boy gave a sort of groan and dropped his head in his hand.