Prince de Joinville, the son of Louis-Philippe of whom France heard most
and saw least, for he was a sailor. One day, his sister asked him to
bring her a complete dress of a Red-Skin chieftain's wife. His absence
was shorter than usual, and, a few days before his return, he told her
in a letter that he had the costume she wanted. "Here, Clementine, this
is for you," he said, at his arrival, putting a string of glass beads on
the table.

[Footnote 41: The mother of Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg,
the present ruler of Bulgaria. She was a particular favourite
of Queen Victoria, and Louis-Philippe himself not only
considered her the cleverest of his three daughters, but the
most likely successor to his sister Adelaide, as his private
adviser. That the estimate of her abilities was by no means
exaggerated, subsequent events have proved. The last time I saw
the princess was at the garden party at Sheen-House, on the
occasion of the silver wedding of the Count and Countess de
Paris. I did not remember her for the moment, for a score of
years had made a difference. I asked an Austrian attache who
she was. The answer came pat, "Alexander III.'s nightmare,
Francis-Joseph's bogy, and Bismarck's sleeping draught; one of
the three clever women in Europe; Bulgaria's mother."--EDITOR.]

"Very pretty," said Clementine, "but you promised me a complete dress."

"This is the complete dress. I never saw them wear any other."

I did not see the Prince de Joinville very often, perhaps two or three
times in all; once on the occasion of his marriage with Princess
Francoise de Bourbon, the daughter of Dom Pedro I. of Brazil, and sister
of the present emperor, when the prince brought his young bride to
Paris. He was a clever draughtsman and capital caricaturist; but if the
first of these talents proved an unfailing source of delight to his
parents, the second frequently inspired them with terror, especially his
father, who never knew which of his ministers might become the next butt
for his third son's pencil. I have seen innumerable sketches, ostensibly
done to delight his young wife and brothers, which, had they been
published, would have been much more telling against his father's
pictorial satirists than anything they produced against the sovereign.
For in those days, whatever wisdom or caution they may have learn