She seems to float and bound like a sylph across the stage, never executing those _tours de force_ that we know to be difficult and wish were impossible, being always performed at the expense of decorum and grace, and requiring only activity for their achievement.
She excited the most rapturous applause, and received it with a "decent dignity," very unlike the leering smiles with which, in general, a _danseuse_ thinks it necessary to advance to the front of the proscenium, shewing all her teeth, as she lowly courtesies to the audience.
There is a sentiment in the dancing of this charming votary of Terpsichore that elevates it far beyond the licentious style generally adopted by the ladies of her profession, and which bids fair to accomplish a reformation in it.
The Duc de Cazes, who came in to the Duchesse de Guiche's box, was enthusiastic in his praises of Mademoiselle Taglioni, and said hers was the most poetical style of dancing he had ever seen.

Another observed, that it was indeed the poetry of motion.

I would describe it as being the epic of dancing.
The Duc de Cazes is a very distinguished looking man, with a fine and intelligent countenance, and very agreeable manners.
_A propos_ of manners, I am struck with the great difference between those of Frenchmen and Englishmen, of the same station in life.

The latter treat women with a politeness that seems the result of habitual amenity; the former with a homage that appears to be inspired by the peculiar claims of the sex, particularised in the individual woman, and is consequently more flattering.
An Englishman seldom lays himself out to act the agreeable to women; a Frenchman never omits an opportunity of so doing: hence, the attentions of the latter are less gratifying than those of the former, because a woman, however free from vanity, may suppose that when an Englishman takes the trouble--and it is evidently a trouble, more or less, to all our islanders to enact the agreeable--she had really inspired him with the desire to please.
In France, a woman may forget that she is neither young nor handsome; for the absence of these claims to attention does not expose her to be neglected by the male sex.

In England, the elderly and the ugly "could a tale unfold" of the _naivete_ with which men evince their sense of the importance of youth and beauty, and their oblivion of the presence of those who have neither.
France is the paradise for old women, particularly if they are _spirituelle_; but England is the purgatory.
The Comtesses de Bellegarde called on me to-day, and two more warm-hearted or enthusiastic persons I never saw.