I thought the Emperor looked tired and ill, and I noticed he frequently put his hand on his back, as if he was in pain. The Princess Metternich engrossed the Emperor's attention. She is so witty and lively that every one must listen when she talks. All the same, the Emperor talked with me a good deal, and thanked me for having done so much to amuse them. Never would they forget the pleasure they had had. When we went up to our rooms to put on our cloaks there was no pretentious majordomo demanding his fee, and our particular valet looked sad, and did not meet my eye when I tried to catch his to give a smile of adieu, and persistently fixed his gaze on something at the other end of the corridor. I rather liked the old way better, as one felt that in a measure one had made some little compensation for all the delightful days spent there. I asked my maid how the servants felt about this change. She said that in their _salle à manger_ almost all the maids and valets belonging to the guests gave _pourboires_. After we had made our adieux, and taken our seats in the different carriages, their Majesties came out on the balcony to see us depart. They waved their hands in farewell as we drove off. The journey back to Paris was a silent one. Every one was occupied with his own thoughts. Prince Metternich sat in a corner talking with the impervious diplomat; I wondered if he were relating the salad's complicated relationships. We all bade one another good-by, adding, with assumed enthusiasm, that we hoped to meet soon again, when perhaps we were rejoicing in the thought that we would not do so for a long time to come. What insincere creatures we are! _May, 1870._ We were invited to a picnic at Grand Trianon, given by the Emperor and Empress for the Archduke of Austria.