IT was in August, 1878, that I returned to Rumania for the first time since my childhood, in order to be presented to my sovereign, Queen Elizabeth, who had graciously invited me to Sinaya, that gem of the Carpathian Mountains, afterward transformed by the King into the most ideal summer resort imaginable.
     At the time of which I speak—a period immediately after our war of independence¹—the coquettish-looking little town was only a mere handful of villas grouped about an ancient monastery, where the reigning couple resided. The magnificent structure, in the German Renaissance style, which now stands like a fairy castle in the valley of Pélès had hardly been begun. Bukharest and Sinaya were virtually connected by a railway; but the line did not extend beyond Ployeschi, and the seventy kilometers between that country town and the royal residence had to be accomplished by post.
     The road made many an unexpected detour in ascending the steep inclines of the mountain, often winding along near the bank of the Prahova, a river that ran in torrents over its rocky bed, now shooting forth streams of emerald-green water, and again white with foam, which was flecked against our faces as we passed.
     Taken as it was in an open conveyance, the drive proved enchanting. The vehicle rolled on at a pace which left one dizzy, to an accompaniment of rhythmic shouts from the postilions, whose many-hued garments seemed notes of bright color, thrown into relief by the dark background of wooded hills. Innumerable repetitions of the wild melopœia were echoed back as we drove on for hours, through dreamland, toward an enchanted palace. It was near the close of day when we arrived, and the sun, disappearing behind the towering peaks of Mount Bucegi and Mount Caraïman, had gilded the trees on the roadside with pale green-gold tints, that gave a fantastic touch to the scene.
     My presentation took place on the following day. A state carriage, which had been sent for me, drew up before the door of my hotel, and no sooner had I stepped into it than a nervous dread of the approaching ordeal took possession of me. I had no idea how entirely one might rely on the Queen's gracious tact in the matter of overcoming all such sensations of embarrassment.
     The memory of that first hour will remain with me as long as I live. Mlle. G—, the principal maid of honor, ushered me into a small salon so profusely decorated with alpine flowers, boughs of evergreens, and branches of pink eglantine as to have wholly the look of a bower. I swept a low curtsy, but before I could attempt a second one, Queen Elizabeth came forward with a charming smile, drew me toward her, and embraced me. Reassured, I ventured to look up, and met with an ineffaceable vision of loveliness and grace.
     Of commanding stature, she impressed

1Up to the time of the treaty of Berlin (1878) Rumania was a tributary to Turkey