I think the women were rather more uncompromising than the men.  One day in my drawing-room there was a lively political discussion going on, and one heard all the well-known phrases “le gouvernement infect,” “no gentleman could serve the Republic,” etc.  I wasn’t paying much attention—­never did; I had become accustomed to that style of conversation, and knew exactly what they were all going to say, when I heard one of my friends, an American-born, married to a Frenchman of very good old family, make the following statement:  “Toute la canaille est Republicaine.”  That was really too much, and I answered:  “Vous etes bien indulgente pour l’Empire.”  When one thinks of the unscrupulous (not to use a stronger term) and needy adventurers, who made the Coup d’Etat and played a great part in the court of the Second Empire, it was really a little startling to be told that the Republicans enjoyed the monopoly of the canaille.  However, I suppose nothing is so useless as a political discussion (except perhaps a religious one).  No one ever converts any one else.  I have always heard it said that the best political speech never changed a vote.

The first person who entertained Grevy was Prince Hohenlohe, the German ambassador.  They had a brilliant reception, rooms crowded, all the official world and a fair contingent from the Faubourg St. Germain.  The President brought his daughter with him (Madame Grevy never accepted any invitations) and they walked through the rooms arm-in-arm, mademoiselle declining the arm of Count Wesdehlen, first secretary of the German Embassy.

However, she was finally prevailed upon to abandon the paternal support, and then Wesdehlen installed her in a small salon where Mollard, Introducteur des Ambassadeurs, took charge of her and introduced a great many men to her.  No woman would ask to be introduced to an unmarried woman, and that of course made her position difficult.  The few ladies she had already seen at the Elysee came up to speak to her, but didn’t stay near her, so she was really receiving almost alone with Mollard.  Grevy was in another room, tres entoure, as he always was.  The diplomatic corps did not spare their criticisms.  Madame Grevy received every Saturday in the afternoon, and I went often—­not every time.  It was a funny collection of people, some queerly dressed women and one or two men in dress coats and white cravats,—­always a sprinkling of diplomatists.  Prince Orloff was often there, and if anybody could have made that stiff, shy semicircle of women comfortable, he would have done it, with his extraordinary ease of manner and great habit of the world.  Gambetta was installed in the course of the month at the Palais Bourbon, next to us.  It was brilliantly lighted every night, and my chef told me one of his friends, an excellent cook, was engaged, and that there would be a great many dinners.  The Palais Bourbon had seen great entertainments in former days, when the famous Duc de Morny was President de la Chambre des Deputes.  Under Napoleon III his entertainments were famous.  The whole world, fashionable, political, and diplomatic thronged his salons, and invitations were eagerly sought for not only by the French people, but by the many foreigners who passed through Paris at that time.  Gambetta must have been a curious contrast to the Duc de Morny.