We saw, naturally, all the distinguished strangers who passed through Paris that year of 1878.  Many of our colleagues in the diplomatic corps had played a great role in their own country.  Prince Orloff, the Russian ambassador, was one of our great friends.  He gave us very good advice on one or two occasions.  He was a distinguished-looking man—­always wore a black patch over one eye—­he had been wounded in the Crimea.  He spoke English as well as I did and was a charming talker.  General Cialdini was at the Italian embassy.  He was more of a soldier than a statesman—­had contributed very successfully to the formation of “United Italy” and the suppression of the Pope’s temporal power, and was naturally not exactly persona grata to the Catholics in France.  Prince and Princess Hohenlohe had succeeded Arnim at the German embassy.  Their beginnings were difficult, as their predecessor had done nothing to make the Germans popular in France, but their strong personality, tact, and understanding of the very delicate position helped them enormously.  They were Catholics (the Princess born a Russian—­her brother, Prince Wittgenstein, military attache at the Russian embassy) and very big people in their own country, so absolutely sure of themselves and their position that it was very difficult to slight them in any way.  They would never have perceived it unless some extraordinary rudeness were shown.  The Princess was very striking-looking, tall, with a good figure, and splendid jewels.  When she was in full dress for a ball, or official reception, she wore three necklaces, one on top of the other, and a big handsome, high tiara, which added to her height.  She was the only lady of the diplomatic corps whom Madame Grevy ever recognised in the first weeks of her husband’s presidency.  Madame Grevy was thrown suddenly not very young into such an absolutely new milieu, that she was quite bewildered and couldn’t be expected to recognise half the women of the diplomatic corps, but the German ambassadress impressed her and she knew her always.  The princess was not very mondaine, didn’t care about society and life in a city—­preferred the country, with riding and shooting and any sort of sport.

We had a very handsome dinner at the German embassy the winter of 1878—­given to the Marshal and Madame de MacMahon.  After dinner, with coffee, a bear made its appearance in the drawing-room, a “baby bear” they said, but I didn’t think it looked very small.  The princess patted it, and talked to it just as if it were a dog, and I must say the little animal was perfectly quiet, and kept close to her.  I think the lights and the quantity of people frightened it.  It growled once or twice, and we all had a feeling of relief when it was taken away.  I asked the Marechale afterward if she were afraid.  “Oui, j’avais tres peur, mais je ne voulais pas le montrer devant ces allemands.” (Yes, I was very frightened, but I would not show it before those Germans.) They had eventually to send the bear away, back to Germany.  It grew wilder as it grew older, and became quite unmanageable—­they couldn’t keep it in the embassy.