or a deaf person:  “Have you pretty flowers in your country?” He replied promptly:  “Yes, yes, very hot, very cold, very hot, very cold.”  I was a little disconcerted, but thought I had perhaps spoken indistinctly, and after a little while I made another attempt:  “How much the uniforms add to the brilliancy of the fete, and the Chinese dress is particularly striking and handsome,” but to that he made such a perfectly unintelligible answer that I refrained from any further conversation and merely smiled at him from time to time, which he always acknowledged with a little bow.

We went back to the salons in the same way, side by side, and when the men had gone into one of the other rooms to talk and smoke, I went to speak to the Marechale, who said to me:  “I am sure you had a delightful dinner, Madame Waddington.  The Chinese ambassador is such a clever man, has travelled a great deal, and speaks such wonderful English.”  “Wonderful indeed, Madame la Marechale,” and then I repeated our conversation, which she could hardly believe, and which amused her very much.  She spoke English as well as I did.

The Grants were very much entertained during their stay in Paris, and we met them nearly every night.  W. liked the general very much and found him quite talkative when he was alone with him.  At the big dinners he was of course at a disadvantage, neither speaking nor understanding a word of French.  W. acted as interpreter and found that very fatiguing.  There is so much repartee and sous-entendu in all French conversation that even foreigners who know the language well find it sometimes difficult to follow everything, and to translate quickly enough to keep one au courant is almost impossible.  When they could they drifted into English, and W. said he was most interesting—­speaking of the war and all the North had done, without ever putting himself forward.

We had both of us often to act as interpreters with French and Anglo-Saxons, neither understanding the other’s language, and always found it difficult.  I remember a dinner at Sandringham some years ago when W. was at the embassy.  The Prince of Wales (late King Edward) asked me to sit next to a foreign ambassador who understood not one word of English.  The dinner was exclusively English—­a great many clever men—­the master of Trinity College, Cambridge (asked especially to meet my husband, who graduated from Trinity College), Lord Goschen, James Knowles of the Nineteenth Century, Froude, the historian, Sir Henry James, Lord Wolseley, etc.  The talk was very animated, very witty.  There were peals of laughter all around the table.  My ambassador was very fidgety and nervous, appealing to me all the time, but by the time I had laboriously condensed and translated some of the remarks, they were talking of something quite different, and I am afraid he had very hazy ideas as to what they were all saying.