A Russian tells me that in his own country there is also a strong military party which holds the Tsar’s plans in deep disfavor, so that, even in his immediate proximity, opposition and differences of opinion are strongly felt. It would require iron energy to hold out against them. Alas, the cruel are apt to be iron.... We give an afternoon reception. Among those present are Herr and Frau Berends and their daughter; Dr. White and his wife, who has just arrived; Monsieur and Madame Descamps; our countrymen, Count Welsersheimb, Lieutenant Colonel von Khuepach, and Professor Lammasch; my young Russian officer whom I met at yesterday’s ball, and young Bildt; Dr. Holls; Bourgeois; the Persian ambassador; Bonnefon; Vasily and his son; Pompili; Schmidt auf Altenstadt, editor of the _Dagblad_; Herr von Raffaelovitch and his daughter; and Minister Beernaert. Beernaert goes to-morrow to Brussels. They have had a ministerial crisis there too. “I am going to play the rôle of Bourgeois at Brussels,” he said with a laugh. “Then,” rejoined the other, “play it to the end and come back.” To-day I noted a deep remark uttered by Léon Bourgeois. The talk turned on the great progressive ideas which permeate the world so slowly, altogether too slowly, because the daily happenings, the problems and sensations of the moment, claim everybody’s entire attention. _L’actualité, c’est l’ennemi_, said he. The Swedish envoy’s son again took his oath to me that he would remain true to the ideal of peace and work for it according to his ability. The conversation reverted to that session in which Colonel Schwarzhoff delivered his speech against the proposition of limitation. The gentlemen remarked that he had spoken with great _mordant_. Now the German equivalent for that word is not _beissend_ (“biting”) but _schneidig_ (“keen”). In either case it is an adjective expressing admiration. Now, it seems to me, sharp teeth and polished sonority are very valuable things in their place, but are they specially suited for the Peace Conference? At dinner we are in Oriental company,—with Noury Bey and Mirza Rhiza Khan. Were it not for the fez, one might take Noury Bey for a Frenchman. He takes the point of view of the Turkish patriotic party, faithful to the Sultan, not that of the Young Turks. The persecution of the Armenians has been necessary, he says; they are revolutionists, rebels, conspirators. In short, they are wicked lambs; the wolf is in the right! We were regretting the failure of the project for restricting armaments or talking of something similar, I do not remember exactly what. “But that is a thing,” remarked Noury Bey to my husband, “which you, as an Austrian patriot, ought to approve of.”