I am becoming very philosophical--though the attitude of some of my friends has rather surprised me (not W.; he is never surprised at anything). L'Oncle Alphonse keeps us well informed of what is said on the other side. He is quite a Royalist, a great friend of the Orléans Princes, and a great deal at the club where they always call him "l'oncle du gouvernement"--and when the "gouvernement makes a 'bêtise'" (which sometimes happens) they criticize freely, and he tells it all to us. I fancy he always defends W. in public--but of course in private pitches into him well. I rather miss the big life--seeing so many people, and being as it were behind the scenes--also our conversations at night when W. had finished his signatures, and Pontécoulant[6] came up from his quarters with the report of the day, and got his instructions for the next morning. W. is not at all "matinal" and hates doing any kind of business early--must always have his ride first. We used to sit in W.'s cabinet until two in the morning sometimes, telling our experiences--some of mine were funny. I hated an official reception day, but the gentlemen of the protocol department thought it absolutely necessary, so I was obliged to give in--and certainly nothing I did tired me so much as those long Fridays in the big yellow drawing-room. From 3 to 6 streams of people--women mostly--of all nationalities--and of course no conversation possible--however it wasn't always banal, as you will see. [6] Comte de Pontécoulant, chef de Cabinet. Our last Friday one of my friends had been in, very much taken up with the journey to Rome--her clothes, the climate, which hotel was the best, etc. When she went out in a whirl of talk and excitement I turned to one of the 14 women who were seated in a semicircle on each side of me, and by way of continuing the conversation said: "Il me semble qu'on serait très bien à l'Hôtel de Londres à Rome en plein soleil," to which she replied haughtily "Je n'en sais rien, Madame, je n'ai jamais quitté Paris, et je m'en vante." W. wouldn't believe it, but as I told him I couldn't have invented it. I was rather sorry I hadn't pursued the conversation, and asked her why she was so proud of that particular phase of her life. I suppose she must have had a reason, which naturally I couldn't understand, having begun my career so very far away from either Rome or Paris. It is a real pleasure though to be back in my own salon, and have my nice little tea-table, and three or four of my friends, and talk about anything and everything, and even do a little music occasionally. January 20, 1880.