I rejoice to this day that I had that drive in Paris. I experienced thereby a sensation which it is vouchsafed to few human beings to enjoy,—the feeling of having immeasurable wealth at one’s command; of being able to secure, by merely nodding, anything that money can buy. At the first moment it is an intoxicating sensation, but—this observation I also value: the intoxication soon passes away and gives place to a certain sense of surfeit; it comes over one like a weariness, “If one can so speedily have everything that one wishes, what then is left to wish for?” And then, above and beyond the treasures that money provides, how many treasures there are which are not purchasable,—love, glory, honor, lightness of heart, health—what good did his row of houses in Melbourne do the poor lame man? And I, instead of belonging to a strong, influential, well-beloved husband, to whom I might look up, on whom I could rely—this lad.... Prince Achille came to us in order to make the acquaintance of my suitor. I think he did find him rather insignificant, but that seemed to him only one thing more in his favor. “You will make of him whatever you want; you will be able to twist him around your little finger!” He invited him to dinner for the next evening. But the next evening, after we had been waiting for our guest a quarter of an hour, a message came: “Mr. F. is ill and begs to be excused.” The next day the indisposition had fortunately passed away. Inquiries at the Rothschilds’ brought no detailed information; the head of the house was at Nice, and the clerks could only report that a letter of credit bearing the name in question had actually been presented and honored. And now the betrothal was to be solemnly celebrated. Prince Achille’s parents had the friendliness to offer their house in which to hold the banquet, and they sent out the invitations. Arrayed in a sky-blue toilet which I had had fashioned at Worth’s for the occasion, and with a throbbing heart, I entered the salon. The carriage had been delayed on the way, and so we—my mother and I—got there rather late. The whole company was assembled, but the future bridegroom had not as yet arrived! A painful quarter of an hour elapsed, and then, the one expected still failing to appear, we went out to dinner. I was seated at the right of the aged head of the house—the place at my right remained vacant for the time. We had reached the third course, in a very painful frame of mind, when a note was brought: “Mr. F. begs to be excused; he has been suddenly taken ill.” After this the dinner went off very stupidly. Of course the engagement toasts had to remain undelivered, and the champagne glasses were drained only to the speedy recovery of the absent one.