In the city of Paris, near the Garden of the Batignolles, was my birthplace. My elder sister, born in the aristocratic quarter of the Madeleine with exiled royalty across the way, used to hurt my young feelings by saying, "You are bourgeoise. You were born in the Batignolles." But nowadays the election officer says, "Put her down born in the United States."
This confusion, due to my having been born in the Consular Service, does not obscure many delightful childhood memories of Nantes-on-the-Loire, to which ancient city of the Dukes of Brittany my father, Franklin Olcott, was transferred.