But now for the cream of my story. We went to the Opera. The house was full and brilliant beyond measure, and my brother in raptures, as I must say he is from morning till night. All nations, all embassies, all English men, and scarcely a reputable woman besides myself. Boxes for every King and Emperor of the known world. But what do you think they shout at, applaud, pâment de rire over. They dance the battle of Waterloo in all its details. The Imperial Guard wounded form dejected groups, embrace the National Guard, whilst a smart English officer makes most brilliant entrées. This héros de la pièce ends the ballet with presenting a French officer whom he has taken prisoner to his mistress, who had imagined him lost. They both kneel to him and kiss the hem of his garment and dance a finale amidst bursts of applause.