im peeping under his
eyelids. He came on my Thursday to see me, accompanied by
Monsignore Montagnini, his secretary, and sat a long time
lingering over his teacup, and made himself very agreeable to the
many ladies present.

The _nonce_ accepted our invitation to dine on the 26th (he fixed
the day himself). That evening I received a note from the
secretary to say that the _nonce_ had forgotten that the 26th was
Ash Wednesday, and, naturally, could not have the pleasure, etc.

Prince Valdemar, the youngest son of the King of Denmark, and
Princess Marie, his wife, were dining yesterday with us, with
Prince George of Greece, who is extremely agreeable and handsome.
She (the Princess Marie) when in Paris stays with her parents, the
Due and Duchesse de Chartres, in their beautiful palace, known In
Paris for its artistic architecture and its onyx staircase.

[Illustration:
A NOTE FROM MASSENET
This was a reply to a letter of introduction which Madame de
Hegermann-Lindencrone had written Miss Geraldine Farrar to
Massenet. He taught her subsequently _Manon_.]

The Princess desired to meet President Faure for some reason, and,
as she could not do that In her father's house, she desired us to
arrange a meeting on the neutral ground of the Legation. On the
day fixed they met here In the afternoon. I remained out of the
_salon_, and only returned when the tea-table was brought in. The
President partook of his tea with graceful nonchalance.

PARIS, _1897_.

Dear L.,--You ask, "What are you doing?" If you had asked what are
we _not_ doing I would have told you, but what we _are_ doing
covers acres of ground. We are in a whirlwind of duties and
pleasures, dinners, _soirees_, and balls. It would bore you to
death to hear about them. Many of my old friends are still in
Paris; those _you_ knew are Countess Pourtales (just become a
widow); Marquise Gallifet, who is more separated from her husband
than ever. She remains Faubourgeoise St.-Germain, and he favors
the Republic.

I find Christine Nillson here. From Madame Riviere she has become
Countess Casa-Miranda. She has a pretty little hotel near us,
where she sings not, "neither does she spin." I meet her at dear
old Mrs. Pell's Sunday-afternoon ladies' teas. Nillson and I are
the youngest members of the club. You may imagine what the others
must be in the way of years. Mrs. Pell gives us each (we are
twelve) a gold locket with a teacup engraved on its back, and a
lock of h