objective point of every “reporter,” to use an American expression, would have been the Pavillon de Marsan, the “Little Chateau,” as it was then called.  There indeed shone in all their splendor the stars of French and foreign nobility, the women who possessed all sorts of aristocracy—­of birth, of fortune, of wit, and of beauty.  This little circle of luxury and elegance excited less jealousy and less criticism than did the intimate society of Marie Antoinette in the last part of the old regime, because in the Queen’s time, to frequent the Petit Trianon was the road to honors, while under Charles X. the intimates of the Pavillon de Marsan did not make their social pleasures the stepping-stone to fortune.

The Duchess of Berry never meddled in politics.  Doubtless her sympathies, like those of the Dauphiness, were with the Right, but she exercised no influence on the appointment of ministers and functionaries.  Charles X. never consulted her about public affairs; the idea would never have occurred to the old King to ask counsel of so young and inexperienced a woman.

It is but justice to the Princess to say that while wholly inclined toward the Right, she had none of the exaggeration of the extremists in either her ideas or her attitude, and that, repudiating the arrogance and prejudices of the past, she never, in any way, dreamed of the resurrection of the old regime.  She was liked by the army, being known as a good rider and a courageous Princess.  When she talked with officers she had the habit of saying things that went straight to their hearts.  There was no difference in her politeness to the men of the old nobility or to the parvenus of victory.  The former servitors of Napoleon were grateful for her friendliness to them, and perhaps they would always have respected the white flag—­the flag of Henry IV., had it been borne by the gracious hand of his worthy descendant.  To sum up, she was what would be called to-day a very “modern” Princess; her role might well have been to share the ideas and aspirations of the new France.

The Duchess of Berry led a very active life.  When she came to France she was in the habit of rising late.  But her husband, who believed the days to be shorter for princes than for other men, showed that he disliked this, and after that the Princess would not remain in bed after six o’clock, winter or summer.  As soon as she was ready she summoned her children, and for half an hour gave them her instructions.  On leaving them, she went to hear Mass, and then breakfasted.  Next came the walks, almost always with a useful object in view.  Sometimes it was a hospital to which Madame carried relief, some times an artist’s studio, a shop, an industrial establishment that she encouraged by her purchases and her presence.  On her return she busied herself with the tenderest and most conscientious care in the education of the two daughters whom her husband had left to her, and who have since become, one the Baroness of Chorette, the other the Princess of Lucinge.  Audiences took up the remainder of the morning, sometimes lasting to dinner time.  When some one said to her one day that she must be very tired of them, she replied:  “During all that time I am told the truth, and I find as much pleasure in hearing it as people of society do in reading romances.”