of the Scottish Queen in the Countess's
beautiful bedroom alone, and later on shall have to speak more
definitely of one life size and exquisitely painted portrait of the
Queen.

But to return to this first reception.

I must confess that a somewhat inconveniently keen sense of humour found
only too much nourishment on this occasion.

The Countess was magnificently dressed, as was usual with her, in
priceless lace, falling over head and shoulders, and a beautiful tiara
of various coloured jewels arranged over the lace. This was eccentric
perhaps, considering the occasion, but not laughable. Lady Caithness, in
addition to geniality, had enough quiet dignity to carry off the lace
and jewels with success. I was chiefly amused by the attitude of adoring
humility and flattering appreciation shown by the numerous ladies
already assembled when we arrived. Only one man was present, and he was
a priest. Later I learned to appreciate the friendliness of the Abbe
Petit and to admire his intellectual courage and manliness.

For the moment, seeing him surrounded by these female worshippers,
hanging upon his lips as he discoursed to us about new readings of old
truths, one was irresistibly reminded of certain scenes in Moliere's
"_Femmes Savantes_."

A lively little American lady (married to an Italian count) plied him
with numerous questions in fluent French, spoken with an atrocious
accent. Finally, she wished to hear the Abbe's views upon
_Melchisedech!_ In the midst of other questions and answers, the kindly
little man managed to turn round to her with a cheery "_Ah, Madame la
Comtesse! pour le Melchisedech--nous reviendrons tout de suite a
Melchisedech!_" All the affairs of the religious universe were being
wound up at a similar pace and in like fashion, and this final word of
cheerful assurance would have proved absolutely disastrous to me had I
not been sitting close to my friend and able to whisper to her: "_Please
dig your nails into my wrist--hard._" Any bodily pain was preferable to
the hysterical laughter which had been so long suppressed and seemed now
imminent.

But there was worse to come!

An Englishwoman, the very type of the characteristic British spinster,
turned round, and addressed M. l'Abbe in laboured and extremely British
French (I must leave the accent to be imagined and supplied by my
reader):

"Mais, Monsieur l'Abbe! c'est le Protestantisme que vous nous enseignez
la."

He turned round upon her