[Illustration:  JULES MASSENET AT THE HEIGHT OF HIS CAREER From an autographed photograph taken in 1894.]

The Empress Eugenie is now here.  And fancy! living at the Hotel Continental, right opposite the gardens of the Tuileries.  I have not seen her for six years (since Cap-Martin).  Baron Petri, who always accompanies her, answered my note asking if I might come to see her, saying that the Empress would receive me with pleasure.  You may imagine my emotion at seeing her again.  I found her seated at the window facing the Tuileries.  How could she bear to be so near her old home?  As if reading my thoughts, she said:  “You wonder that I came here to this hotel.  It is very sad.  There are so many memories.  But it seems to bring me nearer mon fils bien aime.  I have him always before me.  My poor Louis!  I can see him as a little boy, when he used to drive out in his carriage, always surrounded by the cent gardes.”  She told me of the terrible journey she had made to South Africa.  She had wished to go over the same route that the Prince had taken on his way to Zuiuland.  How dreadful it must have been for her!  Can one imagine anything more tragic?  Her only child, whom she loved beyond anything in the world, whom she hoped to see on the throne!  The future monarch of France! a Napoleon! to be killed by a few Zulus, in a war not in any way connected with France.  The Empress appeared weighed down with grief; nevertheless, she seemed to like to talk with me.  I wish I could have heard more, but the arrival of the Princess Mathilde interrupted us, and I left.

The papal nonce (Ambassador of the Pope) had his official reception last week in his hotel, rue Legendre, which is far too small to hold all the people who went there.  All Paris, in fact.  No one is invited to these receptions, but every one thinks it a duty and a politeness to attend; consequently, there are a great number of people who walk in, are presented, and walk out.

The nonce is a charming man, simple in his manner, kind and gentle.  I felt very proud the other evening to be on his arm after the dinner at the Minister of Foreign Affair’s, and walk about with him.  When we passed by some of the unclothed Dianas and Venuses the dear old man held up his hand to cover his eyes:  “Non devo guardare!” Nevertheless I caught him peeping under his eyelids.  He came on my Thursday to see me, accompanied by Monsignore Montagnini, his secretary, and sat a long time lingering over his teacup, and made himself very agreeable to the many ladies present.

The nonce accepted our invitation to dine on the 26th (he fixed the day himself).  That evening I received a note from the secretary to say that the nonce had forgotten that the 26th was Ash Wednesday, and, naturally, could not have the pleasure, etc.

Prince Valdemar, the youngest son of the King of Denmark, and
Princess Marie, his wife, were dining yesterday with us, with
Prince George of Greece, who is extremely agreeable and handsome. 
She (the Princess Marie) when in Paris stays with her parents, the
Due and Duchesse de Chartres, in their beautiful palace, known In
Paris for its artistic architecture and its onyx staircase.