“Monte Carlo,” remarked the King.  “That is a bad place.  I have never been there.  It is out of the circuit of my official duties,” he added, laughingly.

“It is a very bad place, your Majesty, if you are unlucky in play; otherwise it is a lovely place.”

“Of course you played at the tables?” the King said.

“Of course,” I replied.

“And lost all your money,” said the King, and laughed.

“No, your Majesty.  I won.  I won enough to bring away a hundred-franc gold piece which I keep as a fetish.”

“Lend it to me!  I need a fetish badly,” said the King.

“Certainly I will,” and prepared to unhook it from the chain it was on.

“No, no!  I am only joking.  I do not need anything to bring me luck.”  Then he changed the conversation suddenly.

After dinner we returned to the grande salle.  The King and the gentlemen remained with the ladies a little while, then went to smoke in the billiard-room.  As the King hardly ever sits down—­or, if he does, sits on the edge of the billiard-table—­the gentlemen were obliged to stand during the hour before the King joined the Queen.  We ladies sat with the Queen, who entertained us with her impressions of the novels she had just been reading.

She has such a wonderful way of absorbing and analyzing that she can give you in a few words a complete and concise synopsis of the plot and all the situations, besides making clever criticisms.

It was eleven o’clock before his Majesty and the gentlemen returned from their billiards and cigars.  The Queen got up, bade us good night, and left the room with the King.

I was appalled when I was ready to occupy my royal bed.  It seemed to have become more imposing and more majestic than when I last saw it.  I tried to put a chair on the platform, but the platform was too narrow.  The only way was to climb on a chair near the bed and from it make a desperate jump.  So I put the chair, said, “One, two, three,” and jumped.  The white-satin hangings, fringes, and tassels swung and jingled from the rebound.  Once in bed, I cuddled down under the scented linen.  I brought the sachet up to the level of my nose, where it hovered for just a little moment before it slid off me and off the bed.

Then commenced a series of pulling up and slipping down which lasted until I was thoroughly waked up for the night.  The only way I got the better of the sachet was to balance it warily and pretend I slept.

In the morning we were served a real Italian breakfast in our room:  thin Pekoe tea, a little cream, and much powdered sugar, and an assortment of sweet cakes replacing the customary English buttered toast.

MONZA, November 4, 1884.

Dear Mother,—­I want to tell you what we did, though we did not do anything of great interest.  It was such horrible weather that we could not drive out, as is the Queen’s custom every day.  After luncheon Signor Vera (the Queen’s singing-master who accompanied us in Rome) was called in, and her Majesty and I sang our duets.