Madame Grevy was always spoken of as a quiet, unpretending person—­occupied with domestic duties, who hated society and never went anywhere—­in fact, no one ever heard her name mentioned.  A great many people didn’t know that Grevy had a wife.  When her husband became President of the Republic, there was much discussion as to Madame Grevy’s social status in the official world.  I don’t think Grevy wanted her to appear nor to take any part in the new life, and she certainly didn’t want to.  Nothing in her former life had prepared her for such a change, and it was always an effort for her, but both were overruled by their friends, who thought a woman was a necessary part of the position.  It was some little time before they were settled at the Elysee.  W. asked Grevy once or twice when Madame Waddington might call upon his wife—­and he answered that as soon as they were quite installed I should receive a notice.  One day a communication arrived from the Elysee, saying that Madame Grevy would receive the diplomatic corps and the ministers’ wives on a fixed day at five o’clock.  The message was sent on to the diplomatic corps, and when I arrived on the appointed day (early, as I wanted to see the people come in, and also thought I must present the foreign ladies) there were already several carriages in the court.

[Illustration:  M. Jules Grevy elected President of the Republic by the Senate and Chamber of Deputies meeting as the National Assembly.  From l’Illustration, February 8. 1879.]

The Elysee looked just as it did in the marshal’s time—­plenty of servants in gala liveries—­two or three huissiers who knew everybody—­palms, flowers, everywhere.  The traditions of the palace are carried on from one President to another, and a permanent staff of servants remains.  We found Madame Grevy with her daughter and one or two ladies, wives, I suppose, of the secretaries, seated in the well-known drawing-room with the beautiful tapestries—­Madame Grevy in a large gold armchair at the end of the room—­a row of gilt armchairs on each side of hers—­mademoiselle standing behind her mother.  A huissier announced every one distinctly, but the names and titles said nothing to Madame Grevy.  She was tall, middle-aged, handsomely dressed, and visibly nervous—­made a great many gestures when she talked.  It was amusing to see all the people arrive.  I had nothing to do—­there were no introductions—­every one was announced, and they all walked straight up to Madame Grevy, who was very polite, got up for every one, men and women.  It was rather an imposing circle that gathered around her—­Princess Hohenlohe, German ambassadress, sat on one side of her—­Marquise Molins, Spanish ambassadress, on the other.  There were not many men—­Lord Lyons, as doyen of the diplomatic corps, the nonce, and a good many representatives of the South American Republics.  Madame Grevy was perfectly bewildered, and did try to talk to the ladies next to her, but