Pitti catastrophe. The lady's concluding words produced an effect
which may be imagined more easily than described.

The Grand Duke at these Pitti balls used to show himself, and take
part in them as little as might be. The Grand Duchess used to walk
through the rooms sometimes. The Grand Duchess, a Neapolitan princess,
was not beloved by the Tuscans; and I am disposed to believe that she
did not deserve their affection. But there was at that time another
lady at the Pitti, the Dowager Grand Duchess, the widow of the late
Grand Duke. She had been a Saxon princess, and was very favourably
contrasted with the reigning Duchess in graciousness of manner,
in appearance--for though a considerably older, she was still an
elegant-looking woman--and, according to the popular estimate, in
character. She also would occasionally walk through the rooms; but her
object, and indeed that of the Duke, seemed to be to attract as little
attention as possible.

Only on the first night of the year, when we were all in _gran gala_,
_i.e._ in court suits or uniform, did any personal communication with
the Grand Duke take place. His manner, when anybody was presented to
him on these or other occasions, was about as bad and imprincely
as can well be conceived. His clothes never fitted him. He used to
support himself on one foot, hanging his head towards that side,
and occasionally changing the posture of both foot and head, always
simultaneously. And he always appeared to be struggling painfully with
the consciousness that he had nothing to say. It was on one of these
occasions that an American new arrival was presented to him by Mr.
Maquay, the banker, who always did that office for Americans, the
United States having then no representative at the Grand Ducal court.
Maquay, thinking to help the Duke, whispered in his ear that the