Current Beverage: Twinings' Lady Grey black tea.
You will be pleased to know, my dear, that I did not miss a thing at Josephine's assembly last night! Over my second glass of ratafia (say what you will of the obscenities one is forced to endure at such assemblies, the refreshments at the Tuilleries are always adequate) I spotted black widow Pauline Bonaparte leading another hapless victim into her web. The emperor turned his habitual blind eye as another of his decorated captains was snared by his sister's bedroom eyes and easy virtue.
Pauline was wearing a negligee-inspired muslin that clung, some might say unforgivingly to her famous curves, leaving little to the imagination in the way of decollatage. A sensible Englishwoman such as myself would have cause to wonder how she manages to avoid catching a chill, wandering the drafty chambers of the Tuilleries in little more than a glorified nightgown! The enviable if insubstantial fabric of her frock was nearly ruined by what must have been almost a bucket of water splashed on the skirt, following the regrettable trend (which Pauline no doubt started herself) of dampening the skirt so that it will cling alluringly to the leg. Despite her tawdry efforts, she no doubt achieved her aim, if her aim was to shock dowagers and cause more than one gentleman to sternly remind himself of his marital vows. Really Pauline, must you try so hard? In your constant attempts to shock, you are really turning into a bore. Leave a little mystery!
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