bow from a certain distance, and then fell back into a group of smaller satellites, all very splendidly dressed.  When dinner was announced the first couples filed off—­the marshal with Mrs. Grant and the Marechale with President Grant and W. with his lady.  There was a pause; I should have gone next, but my ambassador wasn’t forthcoming.  I looked and wondered.  All the aides-de-camp were making frantic signals to me to go on, and the whole cortege was stopped.  I really didn’t know what to do—­I felt rather foolish.  Presently the ambassador appeared—­didn’t offer me his arm, but again made me a low bow, which I returned and moved a few steps forward.  He advanced too and we made a stately progress to the dining-room side by side.  I heard afterward the explanation.  It seemed that in those days (things have changed now I fancy) no Chinese of rank would touch any woman who didn’t belong to him, and the ambassador would have thought himself dishonoured (as well as me) if he had offered me his arm.  The dinner was anything but banal.

When we finally got to the table I found myself on the marshal’s left—­Mrs. Grant was on his right.  The marshal neither spoke nor understood English.  Mrs. Grant spoke no French, so the conversation didn’t seem likely to be very animated.  After a few moments Mrs. Grant naturally wished to say something to her host and she addressed him in English.  “Mr. President, I am so happy to be in your beautiful country,” then the marshal to me:  “Madame Waddington je vous en prie, dites a Madame Grant que je ne puis pas repondre; je ne comprends pas l’anglais; je ne puis pas parler avec elle.”  “Mrs. Grant, the marshal begs me to say to you that he regrets not being able to talk with you, but unfortunately he does not understand English.”  Then there was a pause and Mrs. Grant began again:  “What a beautiful palace, Mr. President.  It must be delightful with that charming garden.”  Again the marshal to me:  “Mais je vous en prie Madame, dites a Madame Grant que je ne puis pas causer avec elle.  Il ne faut pas qu’elle me parle, je ne comprends pas.”  “Mrs. Grant, the marshal is distressed that he cannot talk to you, but he really does not understand any English.”  It was very trying for Mrs. Grant.  Happily her other neighbour knew a little English and she could talk to him, but all through dinner, at intervals, she began again at the marshal.

After a few moments I turned my attention to my ambassador.  I had been looking at him furtively while I was interpreting for the marshal and Mrs. Grant.  I saw that he took everything that was offered to him—­dishes, wines, sauces—­but he never attacked anything without waiting to see what his neighbours did, when and how they used their knives and forks,—­then did exactly as they did,—­never made a mistake.  I saw he was looking at the flowers on the table, which were very well arranged, so I said to him, speaking very slowly and distinctly, as one does to a child