At home the Princess Metternich was an excellent wife and mother, and attended personally to every detail of her household. In society, however, she disregarded all conventions, spoke her mind freely on all occasions, and had the courage to stand up for her convictions. The brilliant witticisms and clever sayings attributed to her are numberless; they were repeated not only among the court and diplomatic circles, but even by the public. Her influence in the world of fashion was almost equal to that of the Empress, but she was always causing painful embarrassments to her imitators. One day she would appear dressed with a simplicity and plainness that would not have been permitted in any one else; the next, her costume would be of a costliness no one could possibly hope to rival. She was a clever mimic, and would delight the whole court with her imitations of Madame Thérèse, a well known music-hall singer, the Empress usually leading in the applause; yet on formal occasions no one at court could appear with greater dignity and stateliness. In fact Eugénie’s fondness for her was partly founded on that weakness for birth and rank of which we have already spoken. She was peculiarly sensitive as to her own origin, and no greater insult could be inflicted upon her than any allusion to it. The French authoress Olympe Andouard relates an instance of this that almost severed the friendship between Eugénie and the Princess Metternich. It was during one of the court evenings at Fontainebleau which happened to be most dull and tedious. Among those present, as usual, was the wife of the Austrian ambassador to whom private apartments had been assigned in a wing of the palace. Weary at last of the monotony, Pauline whispered to a friend that she would feign a bad headache and retire to her own rooms, whither the friend was to follow quietly with a dozen chosen ladies and cavaliers. No sooner said than done. The headache served as an excuse. The Princess withdrew and hastily prepared to receive her guests, who soon succeeded in stealing away unobserved. All was going well. The music and dancing were at their height, when suddenly the door opened and Eugénie appeared—to inquire for her poor Pauline whose “frightful headache” had filled her with sympathy. In spite of her nervous temperament Eugénie on certain occasions (usually unimportant) was not lacking in the necessary calm and self-possession. Instead of laughing at the lively scene before her, she was indignant and reproved the Princess sharply for her lack of proper respect. “Madame!” replied the diplomat’s wife no less hotly, “you forget that I was born a great lady and submit to no reprimands!” In consequence of this scene the Princess was forced to absent herself from court for a time, and only by degrees was the old familiarity restored.