24th of April.
DEAR MAMA,—Auber sent a note early this morning by his coachman to ask me to lunch with him at ten-thirty o'clock (of course accompanied by Mademoiselle, my aunt, as he calls her). The coachman says that his master is not feeling well and longs to see a friend.
I am proud to be the friend he longs to see, and was only too happy to accept. Mademoiselle W—— was equally happy, ready, as always, for any excursion where a good repast was in view, and of that we were sure, as Auber's chef is renowned, and is so clever that, though the market is limited, he can make something delicious out of nothing.
Louis appeared in a short jacket and a straw hat, looking rather waggish and very embarrassed to present himself in such a costume.
Driving through the Boulevard Clichy and endless out-of-the-way streets, we finally reached Auber's hotel, which is in the Rue St. Georges.
Louis was glad to find safety under the porte-cochère, and to see his bosom companion, Auber's butler, into whose arms he fell with joy.
Auber came to the door to welcome us, seeming most grateful that we had come, and led us into the salon. There is only one way to get into the salon, and that is either through the dining-room or the bedroom; we went through the bedroom, as the other was decked for the feast.
I have never seen Auber look so wretched and sad as he did to-day; I could hardly believe it was the same Auber I have always seen so gay and full of life and spirits.
I brought a tiny bunch of lilies of the valley, which Louis had gathered in the all-producing hothouse.
"Merci, merci," he said. "Les fleurs! C'est la vie parfumée." Waiting for the breakfast to be served, he showed us about in his apartment. In the salon, rather primly furnished, stood the grand piano. The bookshelves contained Cherubini's (his master) and his own operas, and his beloved Bach. A table in the middle of the room, covered with photographs and engravings, completed son salon de garçon.