My dearest Mrs. Martin,—­If you think I have not written to you, you must be (as you are) the most lenient of friends, not to give me up for ever.  I answered your first letter by return of post and at great length.  About a fortnight ago, Robert heard from Madame Mohl, who heard from somebody at Pau that you were ‘waiting anxiously to hear from me,’ upon which I wrote a second letter.  And that, too, did not reach you?  Is it possible?  But I am innocent, innocent, innocent.  See how innocent.  Now, if M. le President has stopped my letters, or if he ponders in his imperial mind how to send me out of Paris, he is as ungrateful as a king, because I have been taking his part all this time at a great cost of domestic emeutes.  So you would have known, if you had received my letters.  The coup d’etat was a grand thing, dramatically and poetically speaking, and the appeal to the people justified it in my eyes, considering the immense difficulty of the circumstances, the impossibility of the old constitution and the impracticability of the House of Assembly.  Now that’s all over.  For the rest—­the new constitution—­I can’t say as much for it; it disappoints me immensely.  Absolute government, no, while the taxes and acceptance of law lies, as he leaves it, with the people; but there are stupidities undeniable, I am afraid, and how such a constitution is to work, and how marshals and cardinals are to help to work it, remains to be seen.  I fear we have not made a good change even from the ’constitution Marrast’[8] after all.  The English newspapers have made me so angry, that I scarcely know whether I am as much ashamed, yet the shame is very great.  As if the people of France had not a right to vote as they pleased![9] We understand nothing in England.  As Cousin said, long ago, we are ‘insular’ of understanding.  France may be mistaken in her speculations, as she often is; and if any mistake has been lately committed, it will be corrected by herself in a short time.  Ignoble in her speculations she never is....

I must tell you, my dearest friend, that for some days past I have been very much upset, and am scarcely now fairly on my feet again, in consequence of becoming suddenly aware of a painful indiscretion committed by an affectionate and generous woman.  I refer to Miss Mitford’s account of me in her new book.[10] We heard of it in a strange way, through M. Philaret Chasles, of the College de France, beginning a course of lectures on English literature, and announcing an extended notice of E.B.B., ’the veil from whose private life had lately been raised by Miss Mitford.’  Somebody who happened to be present told us of it, and while we were wondering and uncomfortable, up came a writer in the ‘Revue des Deux Mondes’ to consult Robert upon a difficulty he was in.  He was engaged, he said, upon an article relating to me, and the proprietors of the review had sent him a number of the ‘Athenaeum,’ which contained