One afternoon a large circle of us was gathered in this veranda to hold a mock trial. At table a little controversy had arisen between the Marchese Pandolfi of Rome and Senator Arturo de Marcoartu of Madrid. Now, in jest, a court of justice was appointed; the two contending parties had to submit their cases, each of them chose an advocate, and the judge was to give his decision. I no longer remember what it was all about; I only know that it was very amusing. One of the advocates—it was Gaston Moch, a former French artillery officer—proved to be very witty, and the two opponents likewise put the whole tribunal in the merriest of moods by their repartee. Arturo de Marcoartu was the only Spaniard who attended the Peace Congress; I believe the Spanish Interparliamentary Group and the Spanish Peace Society consisted of himself and no one else,—at least he was the only active member. He spoke a good deal and was very long-winded, and he was not a popular speaker because he had a very indistinct enunciation and he was all the time repeating himself; but when his speeches were read they were found to contain notable ideas. He had been working for years with the greatest zeal to help spread the idea of universal peace. Even before the first London Conference he had tried in Vienna to win to the cause a number of prominent politicians and aristocrats, and had found appreciation and assistance in Fürst Joseph Colloredo, a very liberal-minded man. The beginning of an activity had ensued, but this first stream was soon lost in the sand. I shall by and by introduce a letter from Marcoartu, containing many interesting discussions and observations which have been justified by events. As long as he lived Marcoartu never was missing at a Peace Congress or an Interparliamentary Conference; since his death, Spain has been unrepresented at the Congresses. To return to that afternoon in the veranda: my husband, who was employed as Pandolfi’s advocate, was in the act of delivering a humorous plea, when a waiter came to me where I sat at one side, said that a gentleman in the drawing-room wished to speak to me, and handed me the man’s card,—Alfred Nobel. Joyfully surprised, I hastened to the drawing-room, where my friend came to meet me. “You called me,” he said; “here I am. But incognito, so to speak. I do not want to take part in the Congress or make any acquaintances, only to hear something specific about the matter. Tell me what has been done so far.” We remained absorbed in a long conversation. Alfred Nobel displayed much skepticism, yet he seemed anxious to see his doubts dispelled. He left Bern that same evening, but he made my husband and me promise to come and visit him for two days at Zurich after the Congress was adjourned.