Kind Madame Mohl was here to-day, asking about you; and the Aides, male and female, whom we did not see, being at dinner; and dear Lady Elgin came to the door in her wheel-chair.

We keep Penini (in a bed this time) in our bedroom.  He was so pathetic about it, we would not lose him.

Write to us, keep writing to us, till you come.  I think much of you, wish much for you, and feel much with you.  May God bless you, my dear dear friend!  The frost broke up on Thursday, and it is raining warmly to-day; but I can’t believe in the possibility of the cold penetrating much into this house under worse circumstances; and I shall be bold, and try hard to begin writing next week.

Oh!  George Sand.  How magnificent that eighteenth volume is; I mean the volume which concludes with the views upon the sexes!  After all, and through all, if her hands are ever so defiled, that woman has a clean soul.

On the magnetic subjects, too, her ‘je ne sais’ is worthy of her.  And yet, more is to be known I am sure, than she knows.

I read this book so eagerly and earnestly that I seem to burn it up before me.  Really there are great things in it.

And to hear people talking it over coldly, pulling it leaf from leaf!

Robert quite joins with me at last.  He is intensely interested, and full of admiration.

Now do write.  With our united love, we are ever yours, be certain!

R.B. and E.B.B.

Remember not to agree to do the etching.  Pray be careful not to involve the precious eyes too much.  How easy it would be to etch them out!  Frightfully easy.

* * * * *

To Miss E.F.  Haworth

[Paris] 3:  Rue du Colisee:  Monday, January 29, 1856 [postmark].

Dearest Fanny,—­I can’t get over it that you should fancy I meant to ‘banter’ you.[47] If I wrote lightly, it was partly that you wrote lightly, and partly perhaps because at bottom I wasn’t light at all.  When one feels out of spirits, it’s the most natural thing possible to be extravagantly gay; now, isn’t it?

And now believe me with what truth and earnestness of heart I am interested in all that concerns you; and this is every woman’s chief concern, of course, this great fact of love and marriage.  My advice is, be sure of him first, and of yourself chiefly.  For the rest I would marry (’if I were a woman,’ I was going to say), though the whole world spouted fire in my face.  Marriage is a personal matter, be sure, and the nearest and wisest can’t judge for you.  If you can make up two hundred a year between you, or less even, there is no pecuniary obstacle in my eyes.  People may live very cheaply and very happily if they are happy otherwise.

As for me, my only way was to cut the knot—­because it was an untieable knot—­and because my fingers generally are not strong at untieing.  What do you mean by Mr. Kenyon’s backing me?  Nobody backed me except the north wind which blew us vehemently out of England.  Mr. Kenyon knew no more of the affair than you did, though he was very kind afterwards and took my part.  And as to money, there was (and is) little enough.  It was a case of pure madness (for people of the world), just like table-moving and spirit-rapping and the ‘hands’!