Early in August she went as usual with her husband and Valerie’s family to Ischl to celebrate the Emperor’s birthday. It was the only day in the year on which she laid aside her mourning, and the imperial pair usually went together to church. This time, however, she left earlier and went to Mannheim to take some special massage treatment recommended by her physicians. Her health improved so much that she was able to eat and sleep again and to resume her excursions about the neighborhood, though still too weak to take the long walks and climbs she was so fond of. On the twenty-ninth of August she went back to Switzerland, this time by special train to Mont de Caux, where she could be more quiet than at Territet. She seemed unusually well, and those who met the slender black-robed foreign lady, chatting familiarly with her one companion, little surmised that she was the sovereign of one of the greatest powers of Europe and ruler over more than forty million people. In a letter to the Emperor written at this time she expressed regret that he was not sharing the peace and pleasure of her stay here and urged him to join her, declaring that she was feeling so much better she hoped to be present at his approaching jubilee, the fiftieth anniversary of his accession to the throne. On the ninth of September she suddenly decided to make a visit to Pregny, a beautiful villa on the shores of Lake Geneva, that had once belonged to Joseph Bonaparte, but is now in the possession of the Rothschild family. The Baroness Adolph Rothschild had been very kind to the Queen of Naples in her days of misfortune, and Elizabeth was anxious to show her some attention. She had gone for a stroll the preceding afternoon in the neighborhood of Territet with her reader, Mr. Barker, who had taken with him a basket of fruit for her refreshment. Seating herself on some moss-grown rocks, the Empress peeled a peach, half of which she offered to her companion. Just as she was in the act of handing it to him, a huge raven flew down from a tree near by, flapping its wings almost in her face and knocking the peach from her hand. Remembering the famous legend of the raven, which is always said to appear to the Hapsburgs as a forerunner of misfortune, the startled reader sprang to his feet in alarm and begged her to abandon the trip to Geneva. “I am not afraid, my friend,” replied Elizabeth. “We must all meet our fate sooner or later, and whatever is destined to happen will happen. Nothing we can do will alter it. You know I am a fatalist.”