At the table I was received with an enthusiasm which was quite Mexican, and that means with an enthusiasm that could be hardly surpassed in any country of the world. Throughout the repast I kept receiving presents. Some of the women took off their bracelets, others their rings, others their brooches, and, in spite of my protestations, insisted on giving them to me. “Absolutely at your service!” They obliged me to take them all. I was inexpressibly embarrassed by my booty. When I returned to the hotel I asked the clerk to put all these jewels in a safe place. He looked at the jewels and said: “But you will have to send them back, madam.” “Send them back? Why, they were given me.” “It is the custom here, madam. Presents are always returned.” “What am I going to do? I am leaving to-morrow morning at six o’clock, and I don’t know the names of the people who have entrusted their jewels to me.” He shook his head. “Well, then, I don’t know what to do. After all, keep them.” Next day, accordingly, when I departed, I took the precious package, thinking that we should return from Cuba, to which we were bound, by way of Mexico, and that I should then look up the owners of “my” jewels. In Cuba all our plans were changed. We left directly for New York, with the object of returning at once to Europe. Consequently I have never given back the jewels. I sometimes wonder what my friends of some hours must think of a woman who dared to accept, under protest, the presents that were tendered her. While we were in Mexico I had occasion to offer a cheque payable in New York for some books I was buying. No one, absolutely no one, wanted to accept it. Then I went to the Chief of Police, General Carbadjadoes, whom I knew and he telegraphed to a New York bank, from which the reply was received that, “Loie Fuller’s cheques are perfectly good.” That put an end to any reluctance among the merchants, who afterward, on the contrary, overwhelmed me with all sorts of propositions. My most vivid impressions of Mexico were of the abounding and well-regulated enthusiasm of the upper classes and the extraordinary insolence of the tradespeople. The whole character of the country is expressed in these two traits. On the liner that took us to the United States Pierre Mortier, for I shall have to mention him once more, made the acquaintance of a young Roumanian, who seemed to be a well-bred man, a very well-bred man. In Mortier enthusiasm is as easily evoked as is condemnation, and he presented this man to me in a most cordial manner. Upon our arrival the young man said to me: “I have so many little parcels that I don’t know where to put them. Would you do me the great favour of taking care of this one?” I gave the object to my maid, who put it in my travelling case, and it passed the inspection of the customs-house officer. That evening at the hotel the young man called on me with Mortier, and I gave him back his package.