It was a commonplace diary, as you will remember if you read the parts of it which were published some time after the revolution which dethroned its author. The outpourings of a very undistinguished young man—conceited, self-indulgent, petulant—it gained distinction only as the revelation of an unkingly person’s thoughts on himself in particular and women in multitudes. But there were portions of it—many of them never published—which expressed unmistakably Manuel’s anti-English feeling and his affection for Germany. _Somehow England came into possession of the diary._ Perhaps it was the diary’s revelation of Manuel’s extreme susceptibility to feminine charms, which suggested the next step. That I cannot tell. In any event, not long after the diary became a matter of diplomatic moment, Manuel paid a visit to England, ostensibly in search of a bride. His search was unsuccessful; but in London he met and promptly became infatuated with Mlle. Hedwig Navratil—better known as Gaby Deslys. They chose well who selected the lovely Bohemian as the instrument of Manuel’s downfall. Young, charming, she had all the qualities which would appeal to Manuel’s nature. Added to that, it had been rumored that not long before King Alfonso had shown some interest in her—and Manuel was easily influenced by the example of his elders. You remember the rest of the story. Manuel’s frequent visits to Paris, where Mlle. Gaby was playing; the jewels—bought, it was said, with money from the public treasury—which he showered upon her; these were the subjects of countless rumors at the time. Then came reports that the lady was domiciled in one of the royal palaces. Finally, in September of 1910, the scandalized and tax-ridden populace of Portugal, learned that Mlle. Deslys had been “billed” at the Apollo Theatre in Vienna as the “Mistress of the King of Portugal.” On October 5th, this same scandalized and tax-ridden populace joined forces with the revolutionary party—and Manuel fled to England, where he attended numerous musical comedies and hoped against hope that the English Government would live up to that provision of the treaty of 1908 which pledged England to aid the Portuguese throne in the event of a revolution. But England—remembering the diary—wisely forgot its pledge. And a Republican government in Portugal looked with suspicion upon the diplomatic advances of a nation which had been too friendly towards the exiled king—and became pro-English, as you know. There ends my comedy. The lady in the case achieved a sudden international fame and eventually came to America, where, I believe, she attracted more interest than commendation. But at best, so far as we are concerned, she is of importance merely as an illustration of how diplomacy—or chance, if you prefer—combines politics and the woman for its own purposes.