Red Cross and Berlin Embassy. I pressed on towards the Embassy just as Lord Derby’s car jerked forward only to be stopped and cheered by the dense crowd before jerking forward again, while an hysterical Englishwoman, her head wreathed in an infirmiire’ s veil, clambered on to the roof of a taxi-cab and yelled out "Rule Britannia". The crowd was so great that it was some minutes before I could squeeze through die few yards that separated me from the gates of the Embassy. In the courtyard were Grace Curzon, Victoria Primrose¹, the two young Rothschild belle-soeurs. Sir David Henderson, Charlie Montagu and two men in khaki (unidentified). As it was impossible to pierce the crowd on the Faubourg side we went back into the Embassy and out, through the garden, on the other side to the Avenue Gabriel. The Alsace statue in the Place de la Concorde was completely hidden with French flags and the crowd grew denser every minute, but we managed to get through and across the bridge leading to the Chambre. Once there, we struggled round to the back door (which is the only one the deputies ever use). Clémenceau had just passed in and was now making his speech. We were eager to see him and quite resigned to a long wait in the crowd outside. The doors into the cour d'honneur appeared to be hermetically closed, but presendly a little tiny jib door (cut out of one of the larger doors) opened and let out a troop of etudiants, shouting "On l'a vu. On l'a vu ", referring to Clemenceau. The police were forcibly ejecting them but not before they had picked up a litde machinegun and this they carried off with force cris and many loud "reculesz donc" to us and to the assembled crowd. Just then I had the good luck to be recognized by General Berckheim, who was on guard at the gate on horseback (his wife is Madame de Pourtalès'² eldest daughter), and, thanks to a few words from him, the sergeant passed us, in Indian file, through the little jib door into the courtyard. Here we identified Clémenceau’s car standing in front of one or two others. We waited in comparative comfort for fully half an hour and then one or two deputés came out, followed, soon after, by Clémenceau himself, Le Tigre looked incredibly fresh and vigorous for his seventy-eight years, short, square, alert, with bristling iron-grey hair and a white naoustache. Victoria, who was, of course, well known to him, stepped forward and he shook hands with her and indeed with all of us, but I don^t think he had the faintest idea who we all were, until the belle-sœrs described themselves as Baronnes de Rothschild (which was certainly informing). Inspired by their example, I ventured on "amie de Violet Cecil",³ which transformed perfunctory greeting into friendly enquiries about Violet. He then sprang lightly into his little car, which stole unobtrusively away through another side door.

Note 1. Lady Victoria Primrose, daughter of the Ambassador, Lord Derby.

Note 2. The Marquise de PourtalSs had been a celebrated beauty under the Third Einpire. She was a friend of my mother’s who when in Paris had been invited by Louis Napoleon and the Empress Eugenie to visit Compligne in her company.

Note 3. Violet Maxse, married first Lord Edward Cecil, and secondly Viscount Milner, and is to-day editor of the National Review,