At four o’clock we left and drove about Schwerin, making the obligatory visits.  A court carriage with a lackey was put at our service during our stay.  I rested, having rushed about since eight o’clock in the morning.

Our apartment in this palace looked as if the mistress had just left it.  The drawing-room is filled with knick-knacks, a piano with music on it, and tables with writing-materials.  At seven o’clock we dined with the grand master of ceremonies and his wife at their palace.  A dinner where you know none of the guests and no one knows you must naturally be uninteresting, and this one did not prove the contrary.  At half past nine we went again to the chateau to attend the ball.  A chamberlain met us at the antechamber and preceded us into the ballroom.  The grand-ducal pair came toward us, and I was led to my place on a raised dais.  I danced the quadrille d’honneur with the Grand Duke.  Very nearly every one in the room was presented to me, and I found among them many people I had known before—­therefore we had some subjects of conversation, for which I was thankful.

The chateau is a bijou.  It has a winding staircase which is worthy of Blois.  We mounted this to go to the supper-room.  The supper was served at small tables, and was excellent.  Frederikke danced the cotillion, and we stayed until the end.  It had indeed been a long day for me.  The next day we drove to the chateau and bid their Highnesses good-by.

BERLIN, 1904.

Dear L.,—­At one of the Towers’s costume balls Mr. X, of American renown, dressed conspicuously as Jupiter (of all ironies!), stalked about, trying to act up to his part by shaking in people’s faces his ridiculous tin bolts held in white kid-glove hands, and facetiously knocking them on the head.  He happened, while talking to a lady, to be right in front of the young Prince.  A friend tapped him discreetly on the shoulder, giving him a significant look.  “What is the matter?” said Mr. X, in a loud voice, glaring at his friend.  A gentle whisper informed him that he had better turn round and face the Prince.  “Heavens!” said the ungracious Jupiter.  “I can’t help it; I’m always treading on their toes” (meaning the Prince’s).

Speaking of indiscretions, I was told (I cannot say whether it is true) that Mrs. Z, one of our compatriots, having met the Emperor in Norway, where their yachts were stationed, and feeling that she was on familiar enough terms, said to him: 

“Is it not lovely in Paris?  Have you been there lately?”

“No, I have not,” answered the surprised Kaiser.

“Oh, how queer!  You ought to go there.  The French people would just love to see you.”

“Do you think so?” said the Emperor with a smile.

Thus encouraged, she enlarged on her theme, and, speaking for the whole French nation, continued, gushingly, “And if you would give them back Alsace and Lorraine they would simply adore you.”