He gave a stiff little nod in acknowledgment of the bows
and curtseys every one made when he appeared in the marshal's box. He
immediately took his seat on one side of the Marechale in front of the
box, one of the ambassadresses, Princess Hohenlohe I think, next to him.
The military display seemed to interest him. Every now and then he made
some remark to the Marechale, but he was certainly not talkative. While
the interminable line of the infantry regiments was passing, there was a
move to the back of the box, where there was a table with ices,
champagne, etc. Madame de MacMahon came up to me, saying: "Madame
Waddington, Sa Majeste demande les nouvelles de M. Waddington," upon
which His Majesty planted himself directly in front of me, so close that
he almost touched me, and asked in a quick, abrupt manner, as if he were
firing off a shot: "Ou est votre mari?" (neither Madame, nor M.
Waddington, nor any of the terms that are usually adopted in polite
society). "A Berlin, Sire." "Pourquoi a Berlin?" "Comme
plenipotentiaire Francais au Congres de Berlin." "Oui, oui, je sais, je
sais. Cela l'interesse?" "Beaucoup; il voit tant de personnes
interessantes.
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