A long morning at the Louvre prevented my reaching home till one P.M., when the _dejeuner a la fourchette_ was half way through its course. No letter on my plate! So Madame Bruegel and I agreed that the wish must have been father to the thought with both of us, and put the matter out of our heads once for all. At two-thirty P.M., however, a _depeche_ letter arrived for me. Lady Caithness wrote to _beg that I would make a point of being with her that evening by nine p.m._ "You will think this very inconsistent with what I told you yesterday," she wrote, "but I said only what was the exact truth, as matters then stood. It is the Queen herself who has communicated with me this morning, and _insists_ upon your being present this evening. The Abbe and I can only bow to this decision. I need not tell you how pleased I shall be personally to greet you this evening." I was again shown into the spacious bedroom of the Countess, where she "received" in general, quite after the manner of the French kings in the days of the old monarchy. Her bed was quite a State bed too, with its beautiful silk furnishings and heavy velvet hangings. On the wall behind this, was a very valuable fresco painting, representing Jacob's ladder, with the angels ascending and descending, executed by a famous modern artist. We soon descended to the ground floor, and passing through the large lecture-room, of which Lady Caithness had spoken, and which had sufficient gilt and cane chairs to seat a large audience; we stepped down some marble stairs into a small but exquisitely appointed room. It was a sort of chapel, in fact, built "by the Queen's instructions," and used for all purposes and occasions of direct communication with her. A general impression remains with me of rare woods and exquisite marbles, and the walls were hung with framed tapestries representing various scenes in the Queen's life. To me the most striking and beautiful thing in the room was a full-length, life-sized portrait of Mary herself, so arranged that a hidden lamp threw its soft light on the features; whilst the hanging velvet curtains of deep crimson on either side concealed the frame of the picture, and conveyed the illusion that a living woman was standing there ready to receive her guests. I have never seen anything more perfect than the way in which this impression was conveyed, without a jarring note of sensational effect. The two French women mediums were already in the room, and I am bound to say they did not attract me pleasantly nor impress me very favourably. They were mother and daughter, and "Harpy" was written large over either countenance. Doubtless they were very good mediums, in spite of this fact. They _must_ have been so, unless one supposes that Lady Caithness and the Abbe Petit were themselves abnormally strong sensitives; in which case one would have thought this extraneous help would have been unnecessary.