The talk was
exclusively French, almost Parisian, very personal, with stories and
allusions to people and things I knew nothing about. No one dreamed of
talking to me about my past life--or America, or any of my early
associations--yet I was a stranger--one would have thought they might
have taken a little more trouble to find some topics of general
interest. Even now, after all these years, the difference of
nationality counts. Sometimes when I am discussing with very intimate
friends some question and I find that I cannot understand their views
and they cannot understand mine, they always come back to the real
difficulty: "Ecoutez, chere amie, vous etes d'une autre race." I rather
complained to W. after the first three or four dinners--it seemed to me
bad manners, but he said no, I was the wife of a French political
man, and every one took for granted I was interested in the
conversation--certainly no one intended any rudeness. The first big
dinner I went to that year was at the Elysee--the regular official
dinner for the diplomatic corps and the Government. I had Baron von
Zuylen, the Dutch minister, one of our great friends, on one side of me,
Leon Renault, prefet de police, on the other.
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