speeches about purely local matters, which didn't interest any one. We
looked down upon an almost empty hall on those occasions. A great many
of the members had gone out and were talking in the lobbies; those who
remained were talking in groups, writing letters, walking about the
hall, quite unconscious apparently of the speaker at the tribune. I
couldn't understand how the man could go on talking to empty benches,
but W. told me he was quite indifferent to the attention of his
colleagues,--his speech was for his electors and would appear the next
day in the _Journal Officiel_. I remember one man talked for hours about
"allumettes chimiques."

Leon Say was a delightful speaker, so easy, always finding exactly the
word he wanted. It hardly seemed a speech when he was at the tribune,
more like a causerie, though he told very plain truths sometimes to the
peuple souverain. He was essentially French, or rather Parisian, knew
everybody, and was au courant of all that went on politically and
socially, and had a certain blague, that eminently French quality which
is very difficult to explain. He was a hard worker, and told me once
that what rested him most after a long day was to go to a small
boulevard theatre or to read a rather lively yellowbacked novel.

I never heard Gambetta speak, which I always regretted--in fact knew
very little of him. He was not a ladies' man, though he had some devoted
women friends, and was always surrounded by a circle of political men
whenever he appeared in public. (In all French parties, immediately
after dinner, the men all congregate together to talk to each
other,--never to the women,--so unless you happen to find yourself
seated next to some well-known man, you never really have a chance of
talking to him.) Gambetta didn't go out much, and as by some curious
chance he was never next to me at dinner, I never had any opportunity of