It goes without saying that, during his long visits to the South, he escaped as much of the official and social drudgery as he could. He saw very little of his illustrious cousins staying on the Riviera; avoided dinners and garden-parties; and, when not at work, spent his time in long and interminable walks, or else went and sat on a bench in some public garden or by the sea and there steeped himself in his reflexions. Sometimes, when he was in a hurry to get back, he would take the tram or hail a fly, always picking out the oldest and shabbiest. One day, at his wish, I beckoned to a driver on the rank at Nice. "No, no, not that one," he said. "Call the other man, over there: the one with the horse that looks half-dead." "But the carriage seems very dirty, Sir," I ventured to remark. "Just so: as he drives such an uninviting conveyance, he must be doing bad business; we must try and help him." Leopold II had a trick of performing these sudden and unexpected acts of kindness. He was a sceptic to the verge of indifference and yet entertained odd antipathies and aversions. For instance, he hated the piano and was terrified of a cold in the head. Whenever he had to select a new aide-de-camp, he always began by asking two questions: "Do you play the piano? Do you catch cold easily?" If the officer replied in the negative, the King said, "That's all right," and the aide-de-camp was appointed; but if, by ill-luck, the poor fellow returned an evasive answer, his fate was doomed: he went straight back to his regiment. This inexplicable dread of the _corizza_ had attained such proportions that, during the last years of the King's life, the people about him--including the ladies--discovered a simple and ingenious expedient for obtaining a day's leave when they wanted it: they simply sneezed without stopping. At the third explosion, the old sovereign gave a suspicious look at the sneezer and said: "I sha'n't want you to-day." And the trick was done. On the other hand, he showed himself very indulgent towards his younger officers' adventures in the world of gallantry. I remember his chaffing one of them, one morning, at Nice. Captain Binjé, an officer whose intelligence, activity and devotion had earned his appreciation, was a little late on duty that morning; and moreover his clothes emitted a very strong scent. The King at once began to sniff: "Oof! Oof!" he said. "I'll wager you struck a flower on your road here!" "Y-your M-majesty," stammered the officer. "All right, all right, my boy: you can't help it, at your age!"