She came to the reception, but her husband was already gone.  The Due d’Aosta was still there, and she walked straight up to him and kissed him on both cheeks, not an easy thing to do, for the duke was not at all the type of the gay lady’s man—­very much the reverse.  He looked a soldier (like all the princes of the house of Savoy) and at the same time a monk.  One could easily imagine him a crusader in plumed helmet and breastplate, supporting any privation or fatigue without a murmur.  He was very shy (one saw it was an effort for him every time that any one was brought up to him and he had to make polite phrases), not in the least mondain, but simple, charming when one talked to him.

I saw him often afterward, as he represented his brother, King Humbert, on various official occasions when I too was present—­the coronation of the Emperor Alexander of Russia, the Jubilee of Queen Victoria.  He was always a striking figure, didn’t look as if he belonged to our modern world at all.  The marshal had a series of dinners and receptions which were most brilliant.  There was almost always music or theatricals, with the best artists in Paris.  The Comedie Francaise was much appreciated.  Their style is so finished and sure.  They played just as well at one end of a drawing-room, with a rampe of flowers only separating them from the public, as in their own theatre with all the help of scenery, acoustics, and distance.  In a drawing-room naturally the audience is much nearer.

I remember one charming party at the Elysee for the Austrian crown prince, the unfortunate Archduke Rudolph.  All the stars of the Theatre Francais were playing—­Croizette, Reichemberg, Delaunay, Coquelin.  The prince seemed to enjoy himself.  He was very good-looking, with a slight, elegant figure and charming smile—­didn’t look like a man whose life would end so tragically.  When I saw him some years later in London, he was changed, looked older, had lost his gaiety, was evidently bored with the official entertaining, and used to escape from all the dinners and receptions as soon as he could.

The late King Edward (then Prince of Wales) won golden opinions always.  There was certainly something in his personality which had an enormous attraction for Parisians.  He always seemed to enjoy life, never looked bored, was unfailingly courteous and interested in the people he was talking to.  It was a joy to the French people to see him at some of the small theatres, amusing himself and understanding all the sous-entendus and argot quite as well as they did.  It would almost seem as if what some one said were true, that he reminded them of their beloved Henri IV, who still lives in the heart of the nation.

His brother-in-law, the Prince of Denmark, was also most amiable.  We met him often walking about the streets with one or two of his gentlemen, and looking in at the windows like an ordinary provincial.  He was tall, with a slight, youthful figure, and was always recognised.  It was a great satisfaction and pride to Parisians to have so many royalties and distinguished people among them again.