So finally the Supreme Council was boiled down to the four Chiefs of State, including Japan's representative on any questions not strictly confined to Western Europe; and the small Council began to meet alternately at Clemenceau's office in the War Ministry, at Mr. Lloyd George's house, and at Mr. Wilson's, which was just around the corner from the British Premier's. Then in March, shortly after President Wilson's second coming from the United States, he fell ill with the grippe. After a rather severe attack he was able to get on his feet again and to do business, but was warned by his vigilant friend and physician, Admiral Grayson, to keep within doors for a time. Mr. Lloyd George, M. Clemenceau, and Signor Orlando were glad to accommodate themselves to Mr. Wilson's necessities, and formed the habit of meeting regularly at his house. His large salon was much better adapted for these conferences than the room at Mr. Lloyd George's. So there it was they met during all the final weeks of the Conference, leading up to the very end. A DESCRIPTION OF THE COUNCIL CHAMBER In the middle of the salon, facing the row of windows looking out upon the Place, was a large yet most inviting fireplace. On the left of this, a little removed from it, President Wilson usually ensconced himself on a small sofa, where he made room for some one member of his delegation, whom, for the particular subject under discussion, he desired to have most available. On the other side of the fireplace sat Mr. Lloyd George in a rather high, old-fashioned chair of carved Italian maple, and at his left sat his experts. Opposite the fireplace, to the right of it, and about half-way across the room, sat M. Clemenceau, with such of his Ministers as he needed, and then between him and President Wilson was Signor Orlando with the Italians. This made a semi-circle around the fireplace, and whenever Viscount Chinda of the Japanese delegation was present, the circle was usually enlarged so as to give him a seat in the middle of it. Behind this first semi-circle was a second one, made up of secretaries and various technical experts, but the conference was always a limited one, and was not allowed to grow so large as to become unwieldy. Directly in front of the fireplace, almost scorching his coat-tails, sat Professor Mantou, the official interpreter for the Big Four. Mantou is a Frenchman, Professor of French in the University of London, so he had a perfect mastery of both French and English, with a good working knowledge of Italian. Mantou was quite an extraordinary character, and the most vivid interpreter I have ever heard, or rather seen; for at times he entered into the spirit of the discussions more vigorously than the original actors. M. Clemenceau, for instance, might make a quiet, moderate statement, in French, of course; and when it became Mantou's time to interpret it into English, he would enliven and embellish it with his own unique gestures.