The Empress sat in a tribune facing the altar with a chosen few and her dames d'honneur.
The Emperor was not present.
It seemed to me that the mass was very hurried and curtailed. The chorus boys swung their censers nonchalantly, as though they were fanning themselves; probably they were impatient for their breakfast.
The curé did not preach any sermon; he only made an exhortation against the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, and told us that we had better be prepared for death, as it might come at any moment. This was nothing new; any one could have said it. He advised us to have our lamps trimmed, for, when our time came we would be cut down like grass and gathered in the garners. Perhaps he meant we ought to make our hay while the sun was shining. I wondered to myself, if some of those old gentlemen sinners who had sown so liberally would not be gathered in as oats. The curé was going on to say that we should not indulge too freely in the good things of this world; but pulled himself up in time, remembering, no doubt, that he was going to breakfast, as he did every Sunday, at the Imperial board and partake of its luxuries.
And before we knew it the mass was finished.
When we returned to the salon it was eleven o'clock, and every one was assembled for déjeuner.
The Marquis d'Aoust happened to sit next to me at table (I say happened, but I believe he manoeuvered so as to do so), and, taking me unawares between two mouthfuls of truites saumonées, decoyed me into accepting a stupendous proposition of his, which was to help him to get up an operetta which he had had the courage to compose. He said the idea had just come into his head; but I thought, for an impromptu idea, it was rather a ripe one, as he had brought the music with him, and had already picked out those he thought could help, and checked them off on his lean fingers. He said the operetta had one act only, which I thought was fortunate, and that it needed only four actors, which I thought was still more fortunate.
The next thing to be done, he said, was to get the singers' consent. I should have said it was the first thing to be done; but he was so bubbling over with enthusiasm that he was sure every one would jump at the chance of taking part.
He seized the first moment after their Majesties had retired to pounce upon those he had selected, and having obtained their consent he proposed a walk in the long, so-called Treille or Berceau. Napoleon I. built this walk, which is one thousand meters in length and reaches to the edge of the forest, for the Queen Marie Louise. I must say I pitied her toes if she walked there often on as cold a day as to-day; I know mine ached as we paced to and fro while the Marquis explained the operetta. It was really too cold to stay out-of-doors, and we turned back to the little salon, called the Salon Japonais, to finish the séance there.
"What part am I to take?" asked Prince Metternich.