“Who would your Majesty care to meet?” I asked him.

“My old lady friends whom I used to know here before,” the King answered.

“Your Majesty does not mean all of them—­that would be a legion.”

“No, no,” he laughed.  “Not all, only ...” and named several.

Every one came, although invited at the eleventh hour.  It was a merry meeting, and such souveniring!

The King walked to my house accompanied by Herr Ancacronra, and the gentlemen whom the French government attached to his Majesty during his visit.  They were surprised that a King should prefer walking through the streets to being driven in a landau from the Elysees.

The King brought several photographs, which he distributed to his friends, and, wishing to write his name on them, desired me to give him “a nice pen with a broad point.”  Oh dear!  Not a “nice” pen could be found in the house!  And one with a broad point did not exist.  As for the ink, it was thick at the bottom and thin on the top.  He had to stir it about each time he put the pen in.

I was more than mortified.

PARIS, 1899.

Dear L.,—­Ambassador Eustis has been replaced by General Porter.  It is fortunate for America that we have so clever and tactful a gentleman for our representative, especially in this moment of the Spanish-American War.  The French sympathies are (or were) with the Spaniards, and the articles in the newspapers are, to say the least, satirical of the “Yankees.”

When the reporters interviewed the Ambassador they got such a clear, straight, and concise view of the situation that they changed entirely their attitude, and now at last the papers tell the truth.

General Porter and his wife have taken the beautiful Spitzer Hotel and are the personifications of hospitality.  The marble staircase is draped with the American flag.  They receive in the ancestral hall filled with knights in armor, and the guests sit in medieval chairs.  The picture-gallery, which is famous, is lighted at al giorno.  I fancy that most of the pictures have been taken away; however, there are a few in each of the small rooms, through which the guests wander with their heads at an angle giving an impression of subtle criticism.

General Porter always has a story a propos, no matter what you are talking about.  I wish I could remember some of the best.  This one I do remember.  He said:  “I never believe but half of what is told me, but,” he added, laughing and pointing to a lady, who recently had twins, “this does not apply to her.”  He borrowed from Coquelin the following, “All American women are like pins—­they go just as far as their heads allow them.”  Is this original?  I think it good if it is.

Do you remember Countess de Trobriand?

Well, she is still flourishing at the ripe age of eighty, and gives soirees in her apartments in the Champs Elysees.  Some one said of these entertainments that they were not assez brilliant to be called trop brilliant, but might be called de trop....