They both said they had never laughed so much in their lives, and were most profuse in their thanks, complimenting all those who had taken part in the charade; certainly Robert de Vogüé and the Prince Metternich both outdid themselves.
It was one o'clock when tea was served in the Emperor's salon. You may imagine if I was tired.
November 25th.
DEAR M.,—As the programme announced this morning that there was to be a chasse à tir this afternoon, I put on my green costume brought for this purpose.
The Empress appeared also in a green dress, with a coquettish three- cornered hat trimmed with gold braid, and looked bewitchingly beautiful; the Emperor wore a shooting suit with leather gaiters, as did all the gentlemen. Every one looked very sportsmanlike.
M. Davilliers gave me his arm for déjeuner. He told me a great deal which I did not want to know about hunting-dogs.
For instance, "Les chiens anglais," he said, "étaient très raillants, très perçants, mais hésitants dans les fourrés." So much Greek to me, but I pretended to understand. He continued to say that the Emperor had an excellent trainer, who obtained the best results because he treated the dogs with kindness. I inwardly applauded the trainer.
He said it was better to let them have the entire use of their faculties; whereas, if the unhappy animals are stupefied by bad treatment they lose their initiative, being pursued by the thought of a beating, and they don't know what to do, instead of following their natural instincts.
I agreed with him entirely, and thought that our conversation was an excellent preface to the afternoon's sport.
As the Emperor passed me, before we started off, he said, handing me a little package he held in his hand, "Here is the gold button which you did not have last night; it makes you a life member of all Imperial hunts." (So Prince Metternich's ruse had succeeded.)