While we were talking, a message came up to say that the young men of the cabinet were all coming up to say good-bye to me.  I had seen the directors earlier in the day, so Madame de Zuylen took her leave, promising to come to my Christmas tree in the rue Dumont d’Urville.  The young men seemed sorry to say good-bye—­I was, too.  I had seen a great deal of them and always found them ready and anxious to help me in every way.  The Comte de Lasteyrie, who was a great friend of ours as well as a secretary, went about a great deal with us.  W. called upon him very often for all sorts of things, knowing he could trust him absolutely.  He told one of my friends that one of his principal functions was to accompany Madame Waddington to all the charity sales, carrying a package of women’s chemises under his arm.  It was quite true that I often bought “poor clothes” at the sales.  The objects exposed in the way of screens, pincushions, table-covers, and, in the spring, hats made by some of the ladies, were so appalling that I was glad to have poor clothes to fall back upon, but I don’t remember his ever carrying my purchases home with me.

They were much amused when suddenly Francis burst into the room, having escaped a moment from his Nonnon, who was busy with her last packing, his little face flushed and quivering with anger because his toys had been packed and he was to be taken away from the big house.  He kicked and screamed like a little mad thing, until his nurse came to the rescue.  I made a last turn in the rooms to see that all trace of my occupation had vanished.  Francis, half pacified, was seated on the billiard-table, an old grey-haired huissier, who was always on duty up-stairs, taking care of him.  The huissiers and house servants were all assembled in the hall, and the old Pierson, who had been there for years, was the spokesman, and hoped respectfully that Madame “would soon come back....”  W. didn’t come with us, as he still had people to see and only got home in time for a late dinner.

We dined that night and for many nights afterward with our uncle Lutteroth (who had a charming hotel filled with pictures and bibelots and pretty things) just across the street, as it was some little time before our kitchen and household got into working order again.  The first few days were, of course, very tiring and uncomfortable—­the house seemed so small after the big rooms at the Quai d’Orsay.  I didn’t attempt to do anything with the salons, as we were going away so soon—­carpets and curtains had to be arranged to keep the cold out, but the big boxes remained in the carriage house—­not unpacked.  We had a procession of visitors all day—­and tried to make W.’s library possible—­comfortable it wasn’t, as there were packages of books and papers and boxes everywhere.