_Paris, April 16, 1841._--Yesterday the eldest daughter of the Duc de Rohan-Chabot, with whom we are connected, was married to the Marquis de Béthisy. It was a fine wedding, and all the high society of the Faubourg Saint-Germain were there. I was invited to the celebration. The Church of St. Thomas d'Aquin could hardly contain the crowd; the throng in the sacristy was overwhelming; people were elbowing one another on the steps, while the driving rain increased the confusion, far from diminishing the haste of the visitors to return home. The Abbé Dupanloup who daily baptizes, confesses, buries or marries some one from our quarter, uttered a discourse which was somewhat long, though it touched those who listened to it. But nearly every one was thinking of such wholly mundane affairs as dress and display. At Paris, and in our society, marriage is rarely an event of any solemnity, and the words of the priest are the only serious utterances amid the extreme frivolity, in which the marriage service can scarcely be heard. It was a sight which evoked more than one sad reflection, especially for those who remembered that in the same church the evening before the last prayers were said over the coffin of the young and beautiful Duchesse de Vallombrose.
_Paris, April 17, 1841._--Yesterday I took advantage of the kindness of the Comte de Rambuteau, who offered me his box for the last performance of Mlle. Mars. There was a crowded audience and every one worth knowing was there, including the whole of the Royal Family. Mlle. Mars exhausted all the artifices of her dress with surprising success and all the resources of her talent with even greater success. Her voice was in no need of training or study: it was always fresh and perfectly modulated; if she would avoid parts that are too young for her and change her style she might have continued on the boards for a long time to come. Her farewell performance was a brilliant event and she was overwhelmed with flowers and applause. The _Misanthrope_ was disgracefully murdered by the poor company and Mlle. Mars alone respected Molière. In _les Fausses Confidences_, there was more unity and vigour and Mlle. Mars was a triumphant success.