There was a great rivalry between him and Gambetta.  Both men had such a strong position in the Republican party that it was a pity they couldn’t understand each other.  I suppose they were too unlike—­Gambetta lived in an atmosphere of flattery and adulation.  His head might well have been turned—­all his familiars were at his feet, hanging upon his words, putting him on a pinnacle as a splendid patriot.  Grevy’s entourage was much calmer, recognising his great ability and his keen legal mind, not so enthusiastic but always wanting to have his opinion, and relying a good deal upon his judgment.  There were of course all sorts of meetings and conversations at our house, with Leon Say, Jules Ferry, Casimir Perier, and others.  St. Vallier came on from Berlin, where he was still ambassador.  He was very anxious about the state of affairs in France—­said Bismarck was very worried at the great step the Radicals had made in the new Parliament—­was afraid the Moderate men would have no show. I believe he was pleased and hoped that a succession of incapable ministries and internal quarrels would weaken France still more—­and prevent her from taking her place again as a great power.  He wasn’t a generous victor.

As long as W. was at the Foreign Office things went very smoothly.  He and St. Vallier thought alike on most subjects, home politics and foreign—­and since the Berlin Congress, where W. had come in touch with all the principal men in Germany, it was of course much easier for them to work together.  We dined generally with my mother on Sunday night—­particularly at this time of the year, when the official banquets had not begun and our Sundays were free.  The evenings were always interesting, as we saw so many people, English and Americans always, and in fact all nationalities.  We had lived abroad so much that we knew people all over the world,—­it was a change from the eternal politics and “shop” talk we heard everywhere else.  Some of them, English particularly (I don’t think the Americans cared much about foreign politics), were most interested and curious over what was going on, and the probable fall of the cabinet.  An English lady said to me:  “How dreadful it will be for you when your husband is no longer minister; your life will be so dull and you will be of so much less importance.”  The last part of the sentence was undoubtedly true—­any functionary’s wife has a certain importance in France, and when your husband has been Foreign Minister and Premier, you fall from a certain height, but I couldn’t accept the first part, that my life would be necessarily dull because I was no longer what one of my friends said in Italy, speaking of a minister’s wife, a donna publica.  I began to explain that I really had some interest in life outside of politics, but she was so convinced of the truth of her observation that it was quite useless to pursue the conversation, and I naturally didn’t care.  Another one, an American this time, said to me:  “I hope you don’t mind my never having been to see you since you were married, but I never could remember your name; I only knew it began with W. and one sees it very often in the papers.”