Dear Mother,—­You would never believe that my official duties weigh as heavily on me as they do.  I received a letter from the Marquise Villamarina, saying that “her Gracious Sovereign would be pleased to receive me on the seventh at three o’clock.”  Therefore, dressed in my best, I drove to the Quirinal.  It is so near our palace that I had hardly entered the carriage before I had to get out of it.  The gorgeously dressed and long-bearded concierge who stood pompously at the entrance of the palace waved the carriage to the other end of the courtyard, and pounded his mace on the pavement in an authoritative manner.

I mounted the broad, winding staircase, went through the long gallery lined with lackeys, and reached the salon, where the Marquise Villamarina was waiting to receive me.  After the usual greetings she said, “Sa Majeste vous attend,” and led me through many salons to the one where the Queen was.  I noticed, as we walked along, that the Marquise removed her right-hand glove, I took this as a hint that I should do the same.  The Queen was standing when I entered the room.  I made a deep courtesy before going in.  She came forward and gave me her ungloved hand, over which I bowed deeply.  The Marquise retired, leaving me alone with the Queen, who motioned me to sit beside her on the sofa.  She spoke French, and so rapidly that I could hardly follow her.  She was kindness itself, as affable and charming as one could possibly be, and put me at my ease immediately.

She had a little diamond ball hanging on a chain in the folds of her dress, the prettiest little watch I ever saw.  After a half-hour, which passed like a flash, the Marquise reappeared in the doorway.  This was a signal for me to take my leave.  The Queen rose, gave me her hand, and said, “Good-by, Madame de Hegermann; I’m so glad to have you here in Rome.”

I should have liked to kiss her hand, but I was told that the wife of a foreign minister never kisses the hand of any queen save her own.

I feel now that I am really launched.  Let us hope that my barque will ride the waves successfully!  In Europe visits are not as with us in America.  Here the residents wait until the stranger makes the first visit; in America it is just the contrary.  I must say I like the European way best.  It would be very awkward for me to receive visitors now, especially when my household is in its present chaotic state.  I hope it will be only a question of cards for some time yet.

January 20, 1881.

Dear Mother,—­Last night the Princess Palavicini gave what she intended to be the finest ball of the season, for which no expense was spared.  They had sent to Paris for the cotillon favors, to Nice for flowers to decorate the magnificent salons of the Palazzo Rospigliosi, and to Naples for the famous Neapolitan orchestra.