After a few days of rest and enjoyment she proceeded to Hâvre by steamboat and thence by diligence to Paris.
Here we can take up the narrative as it is told by Canon Holland:—
"On leaving Sweden she had brought with her a letter of introduction to the Duchesse de Dalmatie (Madame la Maréchale Soult) from her relative, Queen Desideria, the wife of Maréchal Bernadotte, who had become King of Sweden and Norway in the year 1818, under the title of Karl XIV. Johann.
"As a result of the letter she received an invitation, soon after her arrival, for a reception at Madame Soult's house. It was understood that she would be asked to sing, and Signor Garcia was specially requested by the Duchess to be present that he might hear the new arrival.
"She gave some Swedish songs, accompanying herself on the pianoforte, but either through nervousness or fatigue she does not appear to have done herself justice, and her singing did not produce a very favourable effect upon the assembled guests. Her voice was worn not only from over-exertion but from want of that careful management which can only be acquired by long training under a thoroughly competent master.
"Such training she had never had. She had formed her own ideal of the difficult rôles that had been entrusted to her at the Royal Theatre in Stockholm, and had tried to reach that ideal by the only means she knew of—very pernicious means indeed. The result was that the voice had been very cruelly injured. The mischief had been seriously aggravated by the fatigue consequent upon a long and arduous provincial tour; and the effect was a chronic hoarseness, painful enough to produce marked symptoms of deterioration upon the fresh young voice which had never been taught either the proper method of singing or the cultivation of style necessary for the development of its natural charm.
"Manuel Garcia was not slow to perceive all this, and he afterwards told a lady who questioned him upon the subject that the Swedish soprano was at that time altogether wanting in the qualities needed for presentation before a highly cultivated audience.
"Soon after this Mademoiselle Lind called by appointment upon the maestro, who then occupied a pleasant deuxième étage in a large block of houses in the Square d'Orleans, near the Rue Saint Lazare. It was a handsome residence, built around a turfed courtyard, with a fountain in the centre and a large tree on each side.
"As on this occasion she formally requested the great teacher to receive her as a pupil, he examined her voice more carefully than he had been able to do at Madame Soult's party.
"After making her sing through the usual scales and forming his own opinion of the power and compass of her organ, he asked her for the well-known scena from 'Lucia di Lammermoor'—'Perchè non ho.' In this, unhappily, she broke down completely—in all probability through nervousness, for she had appeared in the part of Lucia at the Stockholm Theatre no less than thirty-nine times only the year before, and the music must therefore have been familiar to her. However, let the cause have been what it might, the failure was complete, and upon the strength of it the maestro pronounced his terrible verdict: 'It would be useless to teach you, mademoiselle; you have no voice left.'