Of all the Empress’s attendants the one to whom she was most attached was Madame Pollet, or Pépa as she called her. This woman, the only Spaniard in her service, had entered it in early youth, and remained with her ever after. She had accompanied her on all her travels and shared all the vicissitudes of her mistress, whom she adored and for whom she would have gladly died. She had charge of the Empress’s wardrobe and personal belongings, and was untiring in her efforts to fulfil the slightest wish of Eugénie, who on her part, while she never allowed the distance between them to be forgotten, returned the affection and reposed the most boundless confidence in Pépa. Madame Pollet was supposed to have great influence with the Empress, and wives of high officials were not ashamed to court her favor and load her with gifts when they wanted something of her mistress. But Pépa, a modest little creature, had no desire to meddle with matters that did not concern her; besides she was far too busy and too much in demand by Eugénie to have time for other things.
The dinner hour at the Tuileries was half-past seven. At this meal the Prince Imperial, after his eighth year, was present as well as all the ladies and gentlemen of the court. Shortly before the hour, the Emperor went to his wife’s apartments and escorted her to the Hall of Apollo, where the court awaited Their Majesties. As soon as dinner was served the palace prefect was notified, who in turn informed the Emperor; Napoleon gave his arm to Eugénie and the rest followed in order of rank. The ceremony was simple but strictly in accordance with etiquette. At table a young blackamoor, whom she had brought with her from Algiers, always stood behind Eugénie’s chair, and waited on her with as lofty an air as if he were fulfilling some sacred office. He was said to be of noble birth, and proudly refused to serve any one but the Empress.
After dinner, which was served with such smoothness and precision that it seldom lasted more than three-quarters of an hour, the court returned to the Hall of Apollo, where the evening was spent, usually in a most tedious manner. The presence of the sovereigns prevented any spontaneous general conversation. The Emperor himself rarely spoke at all, while Eugénie, finding this atmosphere of repression unbearable, talked incessantly with the nervous vivacity peculiar to her. To vary the monotony of these evenings, reading aloud was sometimes suggested but it was difficult to find anything suitable for such an assemblage. A French or English romance would entertain the Empress but bored the Emperor horribly; while if a scientific work that interested Napoleon were chosen, Eugénie would yawn, therefore this too had to be abandoned.