If I had seen little of him before, I saw nothing of him now, as his work was exactly doubled. We did breakfast together, but it was a most irregular meal--sometimes at twelve o'clock, sometimes at one-thirty, and very rarely alone. We always dined out or had people dining with us, so that family life became a dream of the past. We very rarely went together when we dined out. W. was always late--his coupé waited hours in the court. I had my carriage and went alone. After eight or ten days of irregular meals at impossible hours (we often dined at nine-thirty) I said to Count de P., W.'s chef de cabinet: "Can't you arrange to have business over a little earlier? It is awful to dine so late and to wait so long," to which he replied: "Ah, madame, no one can be more desirous than I to change that order of things, for when the minister dines at nine-thirty, the chef de cabinet gets his dinner at ten-thirty." We did manage to get rather more satisfactory hours after a little while, but it was always difficult to extract W. from his work if it were anything important. He became absorbed, and absolutely unconscious of time. The new President, Grévy, installed himself at once at the Elysée with his wife and daughter. There was much speculation about Madame Grévy--no one had ever seen her--she was absolutely unknown. When Grévy was president of the National Assembly, he gave very pleasant men's dinners, where Madame Grévy never appeared. Every one (of all opinions) was delighted to go to him, and the talk was most brilliant and interesting. Grévy was a perfect host, very cultivated, with a marvellous memory--quoting pages of the classics, French, and Latin.