illustrious men of the age. Here have I seen princes, marshals, and
dignitaries of all degrees, ringing for admission, no one appearing to
think of aught but the great man within. These things are permitted
here, where the mind gets accustomed to weigh in the balance all the
different claims to distinction; but it would scarcely do in a country,
in which the pursuit of money is the sole and engrossing concern of
life; a show of expenditure becoming necessary to maintain it.

The apartments of Lafayette consist of a large ante-chamber, two salons,
and an inner room, where he usually sits and writes, and in which, of
late, he has had his bed. These rooms are _en suite_, and communicate,
laterally, with one or two more, and the offices. His sole attendants in
town, are the German valet, named Bastien, who accompanied him in his
last visit to America, the footman who attends him with the carriage,
and the coachman (there may be a cook, but I never saw a female in the
apartments). Neither wears a livery, although all his appointments,
carriages, horses, and furniture, are those of a gentleman. One thing
has struck me as a little singular. Notwithstanding his strong
attachment to America and to her usages, Lafayette, while the practice
is getting to be common in Paris, has not adopted the use of carpets. I
do not remember to have seen one, at La Grange, or in town.

When I show myself at the door, Bastien, who usually acts as porter, and
who has become quite a diplomatist in these matters, makes a sign of
assent, and intimates that the General is at dinner. Of late, he
commonly dispenses with the ceremony of letting it be known who has
come, but I am at once ushered into the bed-room. Here I find Lafayette
seated at a table, just large enough to contain one cover and a single
dish; or a table, in other words, so small as to be covered with a
napkin. His little white lap-dog is his only companion. As it is always