to you over my head.”  “Perhaps, but that is not my fault.  I didn’t ask for it—­and don’t want it.  If you think you have been treated badly, you should speak to Freycinet.”  However, the admiral was very much put out, and was very cool with us both for a long time.  I suppose his idea was that being recalled would mean that he had not done well in London, which was quite a mistake, as he was very much liked there.

We dined alone that last night at the ministry, and sat some time in the window, looking at the crowds of people amusing themselves on the Seine, and wondering if we should ever see the Quai d’Orsay again.  After all, we had had two very happy interesting years there—­and memories that would last a lifetime.—­Some of the last experiences of the month of December had been rather disillusioning, but I suppose one must not bring any sentiment into politics.  In the world it is always a case of donnant—­donnant—­and—­when one is no longer in a position to give a great deal—­people naturally turn to the rising man.  Comte de P., chef de cabinet, came in late as usual, to have a last talk.  He too had been busy, as he had a small apartment and stables in the hotel of the ministry, and was also very anxious to get away.  He told us all the young men of the cabinet were very sorry to see W. go—­at first they had found him a little cold and reserved—­but a two years’ experience had shown them that, if he were not expansive, he was perfectly just, and always did what he said he would.

The next day Madame de Freycinet came to see me, and we went over the house.  She didn’t care about the living-rooms, as they never lived at the Quai d’Orsay, remained in their own hotel near the Bois de Boulogne.  Freycinet came every day to the ministry, and she merely on reception days—­or when there was a party.  Just as she was going, Madame de Zuylen, wife of the Dutch minister, a great friend of mine, came in.  She told me she had great difficulty in getting up, as I had forbidden my door, but my faithful Gerard (I think I missed him as much as anything else at first) knowing we were friends, thought Madame would like to see her.  She paid me quite a long visit,—­I even gave her some tea off government plate and china,—­all mine had been already sent to my own house.  We sat talking for some time.  She had heard that W. had refused the London Embassy, was afraid it was a mistake, and that the winter in Paris would be a difficult one for him—­he would certainly be in opposition to the Government on all sorts of questions—­and if he remained in Paris he would naturally go to the Senate and vote.  I quite agreed that he couldn’t suddenly detach himself from all political discussions—­must take part in them and must vote.  The policy of abstention has always seemed to me the weakest possible line in politics.  If a man, for some reason or another, hasn’t the courage of his opinions, he mustn’t take any position where that opinion would carry weight.  I told her we were going to Italy as soon as we could get off after the holidays.