nade, you may imagine how I felt when I saw Monsieur
Loubet approach me and offer me his arm. After all, I was the first
lady! Why was I not dressed in my best?

Monsieur and I walked at the head of the procession. We made the tour
of the gardens and through the whole palace, gazed on and stared at by
the entire crowd of the twelve thousand spectators, until at last we
reached the _salon_ where the buffet was established.

PARIS, _1902_.

Dear L.,--You might think that we are nearly exhausted, but health and
energy seem to assert themselves, and we bob up like those weighted
playthings children have. We have turned heads-up from our journey to
Denmark. We celebrated our silver wedding at Aalholm. I won't bother
you with the usual phrase, "How the time has flown!" Twenty-five
years! You have seen what an ordinary wedding in Denmark is like. You
can coat this one with silver, and then you will but know half the
excitement. The setting being Aalholm, the chief actors J. and I, the
chorus being family and friends, you may imagine that this _fete_ left
nothing to be desired. Guests came from everywhere to the number of
forty. Even our best man came from Norway. Deputations and telegrams
dropped on us by the hundreds; presents of silver in every form and
shape. My dress was silver, and silver sprays in my hair, and J. wore
them in his buttonhole. The dinner arranged by Frederick on viking
lines was splendid. Speeches at every change of plates. I wept tears
of pathos. An address of five hundred names, adorned with water-color
sketches of our different Legations, bearing a silver cover and a coat
of arms, was presented by the Danish colony in Paris. It was all very
touching and gratifying.

The famous beauty, Countess Castiglione, departed this world a few
days ago. She was the woman most talked of in the sixties.

When I first saw her she was already _passee_. There is nothing that
has not been said about her, but of this I know absolutely very
little. She used to live in Passy, and was called "_La recluse du
passe_." She was so extraordinarily dressed and always created a
sensation.

For the last thirty years no notice had been taken of her. I quote the
_Figaro_:

"Countess Castiglione in her day was considered the most beautiful
woman living. A classical beauty, but entirely without charm. For the
last years she has lived, after having arrived at the age of eighty,
in a dismal apartment in the Place Vendome, frien