stationed there, we met a large number of officers at the ball. I had
always supposed the French were graceful dancers. I was a quiet "looker
on in Vienna," so I had an opportunity of comparing the skill of the
different nationalities. All admitted that none glided about so easily
and gracefully as the Americans. They seemed to move without the least
effort, while the English, the French, and the Germans labored in their
dancing, bobbing up and down, jumping and jerking, out of breath and red
in the face in five minutes. One great pleasure we had in Toulouse was
the music of the military band in the public gardens, where, for half a
cent, we could have a chair and enjoy pure air and sweet music for two
hours.

We gave a farewell dinner at the Tivollier Hotel to some of our friends.
With speeches and toasts we had a merry time. Professor Joly was the
life of the occasion. He had been a teacher in France for forty years
and had just retired on a pension. I presented to him "The History of
Woman Suffrage," and he wrote a most complimentary review of it in one
of the leading French journals. Every holiday must have its end. Other
duties called me to England. So, after a hasty good-by to Jacournassy
and La Sagesse, to the Black Mountains and Toulouse, to Languedoc and
the South, we took train one day in October, just as the first leaves
began to fall, and, in fourteen hours, were at Paris. I had not seen the
beautiful French capital since 1840. My sojourn within its enchanting
walls was short,--too short,--and I woke one morning to find myself,
after an absence of forty-two years, again on the shores of England, and
before my eyes were fairly open, grim old London welcomed me back. But
the many happy hours spent in "merry England" during the winter of
1882-83 have not effaced from my memory the four months in Languedoc.