The papal _nonce_ (Ambassador of the Pope) had his official reception last week in his hotel, rue Legendre, which is far too small to hold all the people who went there. All Paris, in fact. No one is invited to these receptions, but every one thinks it a duty and a politeness to attend; consequently, there are a great number of people who walk in, are presented, and walk out. The _nonce_ is a charming man, simple in his manner, kind and gentle. I felt very proud the other evening to be on his arm after the dinner at the Minister of Foreign Affair's, and walk about with him. When we passed by some of the unclothed Dianas and Venuses the dear old man held up his hand to cover his eyes: "_Non devo guardare!_" Nevertheless I caught him peeping under his eyelids. He came on my Thursday to see me, accompanied by Monsignore Montagnini, his secretary, and sat a long time lingering over his teacup, and made himself very agreeable to the many ladies present. The _nonce_ accepted our invitation to dine on the 26th (he fixed the day himself). That evening I received a note from the secretary to say that the _nonce_ had forgotten that the 26th was Ash Wednesday, and, naturally, could not have the pleasure, etc. Prince Valdemar, the youngest son of the King of Denmark, and Princess Marie, his wife, were dining yesterday with us, with Prince George of Greece, who is extremely agreeable and handsome. She (the Princess Marie) when in Paris stays with her parents, the Due and Duchesse de Chartres, in their beautiful palace, known In Paris for its artistic architecture and its onyx staircase. [Illustration: A NOTE FROM MASSENET This was a reply to a letter of introduction which Madame de Hegermann-Lindencrone had written Miss Geraldine Farrar to Massenet. He taught her subsequently _Manon_.] The Princess desired to meet President Faure for some reason, and, as she could not do that In her father's house, she desired us to arrange a meeting on the neutral ground of the Legation. On the day fixed they met here In the afternoon. I remained out of the _salon_, and only returned when the tea-table was brought in. The President partook of his tea with graceful nonchalance. PARIS, _1897_. Dear L.,--You ask, "What are you doing?" If you had asked what are we _not_ doing I would have told you, but what we _are_ doing covers acres of ground. We are in a whirlwind of duties and pleasures, dinners, _soirées_, and balls. It would bore you to death to hear about them. Many of my old friends are still in Paris; those _you_ knew are Countess Pourtales (just become a widow); Marquise Gallifet, who is more separated from her husband than ever. She remains Faubourgeoise St.-Germain, and he favors the Republic.