very glad to see you." She shook hands--I backed myself to the door, opened it, and there found the Highland servant, who took me back to the drawing-room where the Duchess of Roxburghe was waiting. She suggested that we should go for a turn in the garden, and when she went to get her hat I looked about the room, which is quite plainly furnished--a grand piano, comfortable furniture, not pretty, and no particular style. We walked about the gardens a little, which are pretty, such quantities of flowers, and had tea under the trees. Two of the ladies came out--Mrs. Grant and Miss Harbord. They were very anxious to know if I found the Queen changed after seven years, but I really can't say I did. My impression is that they find her older. They say she felt the Duke of Edinburgh's death very much, and that she is very worried about the Empress Frederick, though she doesn't talk much about her. It was lovely sitting under the trees, so cool and quiet after the noise and glare of Cowes. All the people bowed as we drove home through Cowes. I think they took Joseph in his black livery for one of the Queen's servants. I must tell you that Joseph and Elise are also moving in high society. Joseph came with a most smiling face to me Saturday night to say that one of his friends was chef on the Empress's yacht (the Thistle) and had invited them to breakfast on Sunday on the yacht. I said they could go, and when Bessie and I were going to church we saw them start--he in the regulation Cowes blue serge costume (_not_ the short, very short, Eton jacket which is the dress attire of the Club men) and yellow shoes, and she in my old purple foulard, with a very nice little toque. A very smart little boat was waiting for them. Now, my Dear, I must stop, as I am exhausted, and a perfect Mrs. Jellyby, papers flying all over the place, as I am writing at the open window, and ink all over me, fingers, hair, etc. I can't say, as Madame de Sevigne did, "ma plume vole," for mine stops and scratches, and makes holes in the paper, and does everything it can to make my writing difficult. I wonder why I hate it so--I do--as soon as I sit down to my writing-table I want to go out or play on the piano, or even crochet little petticoats--anything rather than write. I suppose I shall never see the Queen again--at her age it isn't very likely, especially if I wait another seven years without coming over. I am glad she received me, it was a great pleasure. _Note._ #Paris, 29, Rue Auguste Vacquerie#, Dimanche, 29 Decembre, 1901. Of course I never saw the Queen again. She began to fail that same autumn (1900) after her return home from Balmoral, and died at Osborne the 22d of January, 1901--a beautiful death, painless, sleeping away and all her children and grandchildren with her. It isn't only the Queen who has disappeared--it is the century. England will enter on a new phase--but it must be different from the chapter that has just closed. INDEX