The house of the Baroness was a very curious place; the reporter Jacquemin, who was there at all times, testing the wines and correcting the menus, would have called it "bizarre." The Baroness received people in all circles of society; oddities liked her, and she did not dislike oddities.

Very honest, very spirituelle, an excellent woman at heart, she gave evening parties, readings from unheard-of books, and performances of the works of unappreciated musicians; and the reporters, who came to absorb her salads and drink her punch, laughed at her in their journals before their supper was digested.
The Prince, as we have said, was very fond of the Baroness, with an affection which was almost fraternal.

He pardoned her childishness and her little absurdities for the sake of her great good qualities.

"My dear Prince," she said to him one day, "do you know that I would throw myself into the fire for you ?" "I am sure of it; but there would not be any great merit in your doing so." "And why not, please ?" "Because you would not run any risk of being burned.

This must be so, because you receive in your house a crowd of highly suspicious people, and no one has ever suspected you yourself.