An English journalist was glancing over some books one day in front of a second-hand bookshop in Monza, when the dealer came out and asked him to go away, as the lady inside did not wish to be followed about, evidently supposing him to be a detective. Curious to know who the lady was, he cast a searching glance through the window and recognized the Empress. Taking out one of his cards, he handed it to the dealer with the request that he inform his illustrious customer of her mistake. An hour later, as he was strolling through the palace grounds, he saw Her Majesty a short distance in front of him. Not wishing to arouse her suspicions a second time, he was about to turn down a side path, when she beckoned him to approach and with much dignity and graciousness explained to him the annoyance she was subjected to by the officiousness of the police, and apologized for the scene at the bookshop. Late the next evening, as the journalist entered a well-known restaurant in Milan, great was his amazement to find the Empress seated at one of the tables quite alone and unattended. As he took his seat near by, one of the waiters came to her and said: “It is rather late, signora, to get anything good; almost everything is gone.” “But I am hungry,” replied Elizabeth; “you will have to find me something.” The man disappeared and was back again in a moment. “There is just one course left, signora,” he said, “but it is the best of all. I can recommend it, for I have just eaten some of it myself. But it is a trifle dear!” “How much does this superior dish cost?” asked the Empress, smiling. “Eighty centesimi,” said the waiter doubtfully. Elizabeth laughed aloud. “The signora need not laugh,” he went on in an offended tone; “most people find it so dear they order only a half portion!” The journalist had sat all this time hidden behind his newspaper, but the Empress recognized him at once and addressing him pleasantly with “Good-evening, Herr Journalist,” continued to converse with him during the meal. She was extremely fond of Paris and rarely failed to go there when on her European tours, though always as Countess of Hohenembs and never as Empress of Austria. She would often meet her sisters, the Duchess d’Alençon and the Countess of Trani, and go about with them, as she could do so there without fear of annoyance. One day she took a fancy to ride on an omnibus, but when the driver came to collect her fare she gave him two pieces of gold, an act of munificence that stunned the frugal Parisians and led to her being recognized. Annoyed at the curious interest of the other passengers, she hastily alighted and took refuge in the nearest house, where she waited till the crowd had dispersed and then drove back to her hotel in a closed carriage with the shades closely drawn, vowing it was the last time she would ever attempt to ride on an omnibus in a city like Paris.