The reception of the clergy had a quaintness all its own.  The archbishop’s discourse was invariably and utterly inaudible.  Whether by accident, or by an unlucky coincidence, it was always drowned by the noise of the tremendous morning serenade given in the courtyard by the twelve or fifteen hundred drums of the National Guard and the Paris garrison, all beating in unison under the guidance of a single drum-major.

Finally, in the evening, we had the clou of the performance, the reception of the diplomatic body.  There was a certain amount of pomp about it.  The members of the corps assembled in a drawing-room near the Pavillon Marsan, where a collation was prepared.  Thence the King’s aides-de-camp went and fetched them, conducting them through all the galleries of the Tuileries to the Throne-room, near the Pavilion de Flore.  When all these ambassadors and ministers, with their suites, appeared at the door of the Throne-room, in their varied uniforms, all glistening in the candle-light, and slowly moved towards the King, with three successive bows, the scenic effect was really superb.  The only shadow on the picture was the Introducer of Ambassadors, who filled the part of master of the ceremonies.  I never could make out why, for that very theatrical part, we had chosen a hideously ugly man with no nose!  We ought to have had some fine handsome fellow to face those representatives of all the nations in the world.  When once the speeches had been made, and the King and Queen had gone round the circle, the diplomatic body retired backwards with the same three bows as on entering, and passed out very slowly, for at the time of which I speak it was exceedingly numerous.  Besides the ambassadors of the Great Powers there were family ambassadors.  And then there were ministers from every country in the world, including those of the small German and Italian States, which have now been swallowed up in German and Italian unity.  All these embassies and legations had innumerable attaches, generally young men of great families attracted by the gaieties of Paris, and glad to have a uniform and the right of admittance to all the entertainments at court, at the embassies, and in society in general.  For in those days society did still exist, our divisions and revolutionary laws having not yet succeeded in destroying it.

Of all these diplomats, the most liked and the most likeable, beyond all contradiction, was the Austrian Ambassador, Count Apponyi, a magnificent Hungarian magnate.  The long duration of his mission, his truly high-bred kindliness, and the salon which his wife, his winning daughter, his sons, and nephews had been clever enough to make the first in Paris, had combined to render Count Apponyi most congenial to us.  His English, Russian, and Prussian colleagues confined themselves exclusively to their official {{Illustration to the right of the text above with no caption}} duties and to the coolest politeness.  It would have been hard for Lord Cowley (a Wellesley),