's library was a curiosity. Books and
pamphlets accumulated rapidly with us, W. was a member of many literary
societies of all kinds all over the world, and packages and boxes of
unopened books quite choked up the room. H. and I tried to arrange
things a little, but it was hopeless that day, and, besides, the house
was bitterly cold. It didn't feel as if a fire could make any
impression.
As we could do nothing there, we went back to the ministry. No telegrams
had come, but Kruft, our faithful and efficient chef du materiel, was
waiting for me for last instructions about a Christmas tree. Some days
before I had decided to have a Christmas tree, about the end of the
month. W. then thought the ministry would last over the holidays, the
treve des confiseurs, and was quite willing I should have a Christmas
party as a last entertainment. He had been too occupied the last days to
think about any such trifles, and Kruft, not having had any contrary
instructions, had ordered the presents and decorations. He was rather
depressed, because W. had told him that morning that we surely would not
be at the Quai d'Orsay on the 29th, the day we had chosen for our party.
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