I thought it the moment for prudence:
"I have never had the honour of seeing the Emperor William," I replied, "and therefore I cannot tell Your Imperial Majesty if the resemblance has struck me."
She then changed the conversation and spoke of the celebrations which were being prepared in her mother's honour.
The only other occasion on which I saw her was two years later, when she crossed French soil to go from England to Italy. This time, she was nervous and ill at ease:
"Do you assure me," she asked, as she landed at Calais, "that I shall meet with no unpleasantness between this and the Italian frontier?"
"Why, what are you afraid of, Ma'am?" I asked.
"You forget, M. Paoli, that I am the widow of the German Emperor and that, as such, I am no favourite in this country. Suppose I were recognised! There are memories, as you know, which French patriotism refuses to dismiss."
She was alluding not only to the events of 1870, but to the bad impression made in Paris by the visit which she had paid, a few years earlier—without any ulterior motive—to the ruined palace of Saint-Cloud, forgetting that it was destroyed and sacked by the Prussians. I reassured her, nevertheless, and said that I was prepared to vouch for the respect that would be shown her.