Robert Walt made a very cordial speech on behalf of the Press, very short but very sympathetic. Our ambassador, in a few courteous words, thanked Robert Walt, and then to the general surprise, Baron Magnus, the Prussian Minister, rose, and in a loud voice, turning to me, he said: “I drink to France, which gives us such great _artistes_! to France, _la belle France_, whom we all love so much!” Hardly ten years had passed since the terrible war. French men and women were still suffering; their wounds were not healed. Baron Magnus, a really amiable and charming man, had, from the time of my arrival in Copenhagen, sent me flowers with his card. I had sent back the flowers and begged an attaché of the English Embassy, Sir Francis, I believe, to ask the German baron not to renew his gifts. The baron laughed good-naturedly and waited for me as I came out of my hotel. He came to me with outstretched hands and spoke kindly and reasonable words. Everybody was looking at us and I was embarrassed. It was evident that he was a kind man. I thanked him, touched in spite of myself, by his frankness, and I went away quite undecided as to what I really felt. Twice he renewed his visit, but I did not receive him, but only bowed as I left my hotel. I was somewhat irritated at the tenacity of this amiable diplomatist. On the evening of the supper, when I saw him take the attitude of an orator, I felt myself grow pale. He had barely finished his little speech, when I jumped to my feet and cried: “Let us drink to France—but to the whole of France, _Monsieur l’Embassadeur de Prusse_!” I was nervous, sensational, and theatrical, without intending it. It was like a bolt from the blue. The orchestra of the court which was placed in the upper gallery began playing the “Marseillaise.” At this time the Danes hated the Germans. The supper room was suddenly deserted as if by enchantment. I went up to my rooms not wishing to be questioned. I had gone too far. Anger had made me say more than I intended. Baron Magnus did not deserve this tirade. And also my instinct forewarned me of results to follow. I went to bed angry with myself, with the baron, and with all the world. About five o’clock in the morning I commenced to doze, when I was awakened by the growling of my dog. Then I heard some one knocking at the door of the salon. I called my maid, who woke her husband, and he went to open the door. An attaché from the French Embassy was waiting to speak to me on urgent business. I put on an ermine tea gown and went to see the visitor. “I beg you,” he said, “to write a note immediately, to explain that the words you said were not meant.... The Baron Magnus, whom we all respect, is in a very awkward situation and we are all unhappy about it. Prince Bismarck is not to be trifled with and it may be very serious for the baron.”