Altogether we were so done up after eighteen hours of it, that we stayed at Leghorn instead of going on straight to Florence.  Still, now I seem to have got over fatigue and the rest—­and we keep our faces turned undeviatingly to Rome.  Mdme. du Quaire having carefully apprised M. Mignaty that we left Paris on the thirteenth, our friends here seem to have made up their minds that we had perished by land or water, and Annunziata’s poor sister had passed three days in tears, for instance.

Now, dearest Fanny, let me confess to you.  I have not brought the bonnet.  A bonnet is a personal matter, and I would not let anyone choose one for me.  Still, as you had more faith in man (or woman), I would have risked even displeasing you, only Robert would not let me.  He said it was absurd—­I ‘did not know your size;’ I ’could not know your taste;’ in fact, he would not let me.  Perhaps after all it is better.  You shall see mine, which is the last novelty, and I will tell you the results of having investigated the bonnet question generally.  I was told at a fashionable shop that hats might be worn out of one’s teens; but in Paris, let me hasten to add, you don’t see hats walking about except on the heads of small girls.  In Rome it may be otherwise, as at the seaside it was.  Bonnets are a great deal larger, but you shall see.

Oh, so glad I am to be back—­so glad, so glad!

And so happy I shall be to see you, dearest Fanny, whom, till now, I have not thanked for the pretty, pretty sketch.  I recognised the persons at a glance, you threw into them so much character....

Your ever most affectionate
E.B.B.

* * * * *

To Miss Browning

[Florence:  about November 1858.]

Robert’s uncertainty about Rome, my dearest Sarianna, has led him into delay of writing.  We dropped here upon summer, and a few days afterwards, just as suddenly, the winter dropped upon us.  Such wonderful weather, such cold, such snow—­enough to strangle one.  The rain has come, however, to-day, and though everything feels wretched enough, and I am languid about schemes of travelling, we talk of going next week, should nothing hinder.

    ’If it be possible
    After much grief and pain.’

Peni would rather stay, I believe.  His Florence is in his heart still.

Robert will have told you about his bust,[59] which is exquisite in the clay, and will be exhibited in London in the marble next May.  The likeness, the poetry, the ideal grace and infantile reality are all there.  I am so happy to have it.  I set about teasing Robert till he gave it to me, and, as he really loses nothing thereby, I accepted at once, as you may suppose.  I would rather have given up Rome and had the bust; but the artist was generous, and would only accept what would cover the expenses, twenty-five guineas.  He said he ’would not otherwise do it for us, as he asked in the first place to be allowed to make the sketch in clay, and would not appear to have laid a trap for an order.’  So we are all three very happy and grateful to one another—­which is pleasant.  I feel the most obliged perhaps of the three—­obliged to the other two—­and ought to be, after the napoleons dropt in Paris, Sarianna!