In Continuation.
Well my dear friend the ball is over—that ball of which I promised you a description. But who can describe the heat or suffocating sensations felt in a crowd?
The General has an agreeable face, a sweet mouth, and most enchanting smile; but
"Like the sun, he shone on all alike,"
and paid no particular attention to any object. His uniform was a la hussar, and very brilliant; he wore red boots:—but his person is bad, he is too short; a Bacchus-like figure, which accords neither with my idea of a great General nor a great man.
But you know one of my faults is to create objects in my imagination on the model of my incomparable friend, and then to dislike every thing I meet because it falls short of my expectations.
I was disappointed at the ball, because I was confounded in the crowd, but my disappointment was trifling compared with that felt by Clara. Accustomed to admiration she expected to receive it on this occasion in no moderate portion, and to find herself undistinguished was not flattering. She did not dance, staid only an hour, and has declared against all balls in future. But there is one announced by the Admiral which may perhaps induce her to change her resolution.
Madame Le Clerc has sailed for France with the body of her husband, which was embalmed here.