I have only time to send you a line with the box of ribbons The trunk will go to-morrow by the stage.  I would have sent it before, but the children’s boots were not done.  It is impossible to get anything done now—­the storekeepers say they can’t get workmen, the workmen say they can’t get employment.  Blanchard will be in Paris to superintend its packing.  If you are not pleased with your things, especially the blue dress and mauve bonnet, I despair of ever satisfying you.  I did not take your sashes to Mlle. Vatelin.  It was Prince de Monbert’s fault; in passing along the Boulevards I saw him talking to a gentleman—­I turned into Panorama street—­he followed me, and to elude him I went into the Chinese store.  M. de Monbert remained outside; I bought some tea, and telling the woman I would send for it, went out by the opposite door which opens on Vivienne street.  The Prince, who has been away from Paris for ten years, was not aware of this store having two exits, so in this way I escaped him.  This hateful prince is also the cause of my returning here.  The day after that wretched evening at the Odeon, I went to inquire about my cousin.  There I found that Madame de Langeac had left Fontainebleau and gone to Madame de H.’s, where they are having private theatricals.  She returns to Paris in ten days, where she begs me to wait for her.  I also heard that M. de Monbert had had quite a scene with the porter on the same morning—­insisting that he had seen me, and that he would not be put off by lying servants any longer; his language and manner quite shocked the household.  The prospect of a visit from him filled me with fright.  I returned to my garret—­Madame Taverneau was anxiously waiting for my return, and carried me off without giving me anytime for reflection; so I am here once more.  Perhaps you think that in this rural seclusion, under the shade of these willows, I ought to find tranquillity?  Just the reverse.  A new danger threatens me; I escape from a furious prince, to be ensnared by a delirious poet.  I went away leaving M. de Meilhan gracious, gallant, but reasonable; I return to find him presuming, passionate, foolish.  It makes me think that absence increases my attractiveness, and separation clothes me with new charms.

This devotion is annoying, and I am determined to nip it in the bud; it fills me with a horrible dread that in no way resembles the charming fear I have dreamed of.  The young poet takes a serious view of the flattery I bestowed upon him only in order to discover what his friend had written about me; he has persuaded himself that I love him, and I despair of being able to dispel the foolish notion.