[Sidenote:  Views for Victorine]

The Frascati beds were comfortable, and I could not wake in the morning, in spite of Agnes fussing about.  The Vicomte has awakened every one each day by rapping at their doors, but this morning I was at last aroused by Heloise, who had the next room, and we had our coffee together.  She says she does hope soon to get Victorine married, and that they have a nephew of the Baronne’s in view, but he has not seen her yet.  It appears it is easier to get them off if they are quiet looking and dowdy, but not so aggressive as Victorine.  You haven’t much chance if you are very pretty and lively; as she says, the men only like you to be that when you are married to some one else.  Heloise wishes to have everything smart as the Tournelles have, but Godmamma and Victorine are always against her.  She says life there is for ever eating galette de plomp, which I suppose means a suet pudding feeling.  We all went to High Mass at eleven; it was very pretty, and such a good-looking priest handed the bag.  I should hate to be a priest; shouldn’t you, Mamma?  You mayn’t even look at any one nice.

We breakfasted at Frascati, but we were a little bit gloomy at our trip being over.  This afternoon they have nearly all gone for a drive in hired motor cars, but I haven’t a hat here that would stay on, so I am writing to you instead, and we cross over to Trouville at five o’clock in the ordinary boat, as it is too rough for the Sauterelle.—­Good-bye, dear Mamma, your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

[Sidenote:  A Full-blown Bride]

P.S.—­I forgot to tell you the story of the “Cote des deux Amants.” You know the fearfully straight, steep hill we have often noticed from the train if you go to Paris from Dieppe.  Well, Hippolyte told us the story when we passed it.  It is quite close from the river, and looks as if it had been cut with a knife, it is so steep.  It appears that in the Middle Ages there was a castle on the top, and there lived a Comte who had a tremendously stout daughter.  He said no one should have her and her fortune unless he was strong enough to carry her from the bottom to the top of the hill.  Hundreds tried—­it was a beauty then to be fat—­but every one dropped her half-way, and the poor thing got “tres fatiguee d’etre plantee comme ca,” when a handsome cavalier came along, and he succeeded.  His snorts of out-of-breathness could be heard for miles, but he got her to the top and then fell dead at her feet; and she went into a convent and died.  Hippolyte said also that the other ending of the story was, that she got so thin from pining for the knight that the next one who came along had no difficulty, and so they married and lived happy ever after.  But I like the tragic end best.  And he said that the peasants still declare they can hear the knight wheezing on moonlight nights, but “Antoine” said it was probably a traction engine.  And I don’t think it nice of him; do you, Mamma?