made tender grimaces to each other. The dancing was free and easy, though not offensively so.
I expected to have seen some ballet splendor, some beauty, as the attraction and apology for the low or loose morality of this assembly; but I was astonished at merely finding the ugly, the repulsive, in every respect. Strict police regulations require propriety in the style of dress and outward behaviour; all the women wore their dresses high in the neck; the greater number danced in bonnets; and seldom have I seen an assembly of plainer people, especially the women. It was the ugly in its full bloom, and besides that, painted, unabashed, without character, and without esprit. I thought of being a spectator of the scene for a couple of hours, but I was satisfied in twenty minutes. The repulsive figures, the disgusting physiognomies, the noisy music, the wild cries, which were sent forth every now and then, and those painted, unhappy women, who kept thronging in, ever more and more, the increasing fumes of punch and tobacco-smoke,—all this soon became intolerable to me, and we left the frightful assembly, just as it was beginning to arrive at its “esse.”
Down on the Quai aux fleurs, the pure, pleasant night-air, and the starry heavens, met us in all their splendor. It was in striking contrast with the scene up above. I felt ready to weep over those poor night-butterflies and bats, which were not able to feel the beauty of this air and this heaven!
In the saloons of Valentino, was dancing, this evening the company which assembles, in the summer, in the Jardin Mobille. I went, in the quiet, beautiful
