Arthur Sullivan, the English composer, was there one night.  He had come over to Paris to hear one of his symphonies played at the Conservatoire, and was very much pleased with the way it had been received by that very critical audience.  He was quite surprised to find the Parisians so enthusiastic—­had always heard the Paris Salle was so cold.

Miss Kellogg, the American prima donna, was there too that evening, and we made a great deal of music, she singing and Sullivan accompanying by heart.  Mrs. Freeman, wife of one of the English secretaries, told W. that Queen Victoria had so enjoyed her talk with him—­“quite as if I were talking with one of my own ministers.”  She had found Grevy rather stiff and reserved—­said their conversation was absolutely banal.  They spoke in French, and as Grevy knew nothing of England or the English, the interview couldn’t have been interesting.

We saw a great many people that last month, dined with all our colleagues of the diplomatic corps.  They were already diners d’adieux, as every day in the papers the fall of the ministry was announced, and the names of the new ministers published.  I think the diplomatists were sorry to see W. go, but of course they couldn’t feel very strongly on the subject.  Their business is to be on good terms with all the foreign ministers, and to get as much as they can out of them.  They are, with rare exceptions, birds of passage, and don’t trouble themselves much about changing cabinets.  However, they were all very civil, not too diffuse, and one had the impression that they would be just as civil to our successor and to his successor.  It must be so; there is no profession so absolutely banal as diplomacy.  All diplomatists, from the ambassador to the youngest secretary, must follow their instructions, and if by any chance an ambassador does take any initiative, profiting by being on the spot, and knowing the character of the people, he is promptly disowned by his chief.

I had grown very philosophical, was quite ready to go or to stay, didn’t mind the fight any more nor the attacks on W., which were not very vicious, but so absurd that no one who knew him could attach the least importance to them.  He didn’t care a pin.  He had always been a Protestant, with an English name, educated in England, so the reiteration of these facts, very much exaggerated and leading up to the conclusion that on account of his birth and education he couldn’t be a convinced French Republican, didn’t affect him very much.  He had always promised me a winter in Italy when he left office.  He had never been in Rome, and I was delighted at the prospect of seeing that lovely land again, all blue sky and bright sun and smiling faces.