Paul had invited some of his German officer friends to take tea with us.
Paul had been with the King of Prussia and Jules Favre and Bismarck at
Ferrières, where they had met, he said, "with no other result than to see
Jules Favre weep."
Paul had been at Versailles when the King was proclaimed Emperor in the salle de glaces—the greatest emotion he had ever experienced, he said. He had also been witness of the signing of the armistice. The pen with which it was signed had been given him as a souvenir, and it was lying on his table.
Paul thought the Emperor Napoleon more to be pitied than blamed. He had gone into this war without really knowing the true state of things. He was made to believe that there were four hundred thousand men ready to take the field, when in reality there were only half that number, and those certainly not fit to be pitted against the Germans, who had been provided with better and newer maps than the French, and knew France and its army more thoroughly than the French themselves. We could have talked on this subject for hours had not the fat ponies come to take us to the station, where we bade farewell to Paul and the officers, and returned to Paris for the modest repast which we dignified by the name of dinner.
March 17th.
DEAR MAMA,—Such a funny thing happened to-day.
I don't know whether I told you of some Americans, called the O——s, I met in Dinard fresh from America (via Southampton). When I bade them good-by, I said, in an offhand way, "When you come to Paris you must come and see me."
"Oh! that will be nice," gushingly replied Mrs. O——. "Where do you live?"
(Every one of the O——s' phrases commenced with "Oh!")
"I live in the Rue de Courcelles," I answered.
"Oh! Roue de Carrousel," she repeated. "What number?"
"Rue de Courcelles," I replied, correctingly; "twenty-seven."