"What you have seen," said Jones, who meanwhile had come in, and who now occupied a seat on my left, "is not Mefistofele at all. It is Gounod's additional Ballet Scene for Faust. 'Dramatic Divertissement' it ought to be called. Beautiful grouping, picturesque costumes, magnificent scenery, delightful dance music! But you ought not to have missed the new Valentine. That was a great mistake." I looked at my watch. "Time enough for the new Valentine even now," I reflected; and I went over as fast as I could to Covent Garden.
Here there was a new Valentine surely enough. A Russian lady, I was told. Not a bit like the Russian ladies one has seen in Fedora, the Pink Pearl, the Red Lamp, and other dramatic misrepresentations of Russian life. But Mlle. Sandra, or Mlle. Panaeff, or whatever her name may be, was not playing the part of a female Nihilist. She was impersonating a well-bred, Catholic young lady of the Sixteenth Century. Jones subsequently informed me that it was not Mlle. Sandra's Valentine that I ought to have seen, but Victor Maurel's, at the other house.
Note at the Guildhall.—Now we know what the City Marshal has to do. We saw him in his warlike costume, bareheaded, marshalling the carriages of the Great Personages on their departure, and capitally he did it. Not a single name was pronounced incorrectly. Everybody came up to time, and got away comfortably. On these occasions, the City Marshal is a sort of Glorified Linkman.
THE LATEST FROM LORD'S.
Land Bill. "Well, anyhow, you carried your Bat." Crimes Bill. "Yes; but you'll find the Bowling awfully hot."