This medical man who was so devoted to my family, and who disappeared all too soon, once saved my sister Stéphanie's life when she was stricken with typhoid, and when she was better the King and Queen took us to Biarritz--a change of air being necessary for our convalescent. My sister and I shared the same room facing the sea at the Villa Eugénie. I was thirteen years old, Stéphanie was seven. I was entrusted with the care of her, and to see that she did not catch cold. One night a tempestuous wind arose which, incidentally, produced a terrible waterspout. Waking up, I rushed to the window, which was open, in my nightgown. The system of closing the window would not act, or perhaps I was clumsy; anyhow, I could not manage to shut the window. The wind now rose to such fury that every moment I was blown back into the room. I began to tremble as I feared for Stéphanie. But I still continued to struggle against the force of the storm. How long this lasted I do not know. I only remember that they found me frozen, soaked and shivering, and that I was put into a warm bed. My eyes closed. I heard Dr. Wiemmer say to the Queen: "What a child! Any other would have called out or rung the bell! She did not wish for help to protect her sister, and the storm did not frighten her. She only listened to the voice of duty, and she did not flinch." Alas! each of us is made according to his or her destiny. The first blow which made me realize the cruel severity of Fate was the death of my brother Leopold. I had for him the feelings of a devoted and "motherly" sister. He was my property, my chattel, my child. We grew up together. I had considerable authority over him as I was twelve months older than he was, and he always obeyed me. Leopold, Duke of Brabant and Comte de Hainaut, loved to play with dolls. I much preferred playing with him. Nevertheless my uncle, the Archduke Etienne, my mother's brother, one of the best and most distinguished men that the earth has produced, gave us two Hungarian dolls. These were works of art of their kind. Mine was christened "Figaro," a souvenir of Beaumarchais, the enemy of Courts, who thus named it; why, and wherefore, I cannot say. My brother's doll received the much more modest and romantic name of "Irma." There came a time when Figaro and Irma enlivened the Château of Laeken. They even made the King laugh. I organized performances with Leopold, Irma and Figaro which would have made Bartholo jealous. My brother and I were happy and light-hearted--as happy as it is possible to be at our age. Then came death, which lacerated my whole being, and the passing of my beloved brother in his ninth year. I remember then that I dared curse God and disown Him....