but that it had occurred to him doubtfully whether certain things might not be painful to me, and whether I might not prefer their being omitted in his paper. (All this time we had seen neither book nor ‘Athenaeum.’) Robert answered for me that the omission of such and such things would be much preferred by me, and accordingly the article appears in the ‘Revue’ with the passage from your book garbled and curtailed as seemed best to the quoter.  Then Robert set about procuring the ‘Athenaeum’ in question.  He tells me (and that I perfectly believe) that, for the facts to be given at all, they could not possibly be given with greater delicacy; oh, and I will add for myself, that for them to be related by anyone during my life, I would rather have you to relate them than another.  But why should they be related during my life?  There was no need, no need.  To show my nervous susceptibility in the length and breadth of it to you, I could not (when it came to the point) bear to read the passage extracted in the ‘Athenaeum,’ notwithstanding my natural anxiety to see exactly what was done.  I could not bear to do it.  I made Robert read it aloud—­with omissions—­so that I know all your kindness.  I feel it deeply; through tears of pain I feel it; and if, as I dare say you will, you think me very very foolish, do not on that account think me ungrateful.  Ungrateful I never can be to you, my much loved and kindest friend.

I hear your book is considered one of your best productions, and I do not doubt that the opinion is just.  Thank you for giving it to us, thank you.

I don’t like to send you a letter from Paris without a word about your hero—­’handsome,’ I fancy not, nor the imperial type.  I have not seen his face distinctly.  What do you think about the constitution?  Will it work, do you fancy, now-a-days in France?  The initiative of the laws, put out of the power of the legislative assembly, seems to me a stupidity; and the senators, in their fine dresses, make me wink a little.  Also, I hear that the ‘senatorial cardinals’ don’t please the peasants, who hate the priesthood as much as they hate the ‘Cossacks.’  On the other hand, Montalembert was certainly in bed the other day with vexation, because ’nobody could do anything with Louis Napoleon—­he was obstinate;’ ‘nous nous en lavons les mains,’ and that fact gives me hope that not too much indulgence is intended to the Church.  There’s to be a ball at the Tuileries with ‘court dresses,’ which is ‘un peu fort’ for a republic.  By the way, rumour (with apparent authority justifying it) says, that a black woman opened her mouth and prophesied to him at Ham, ’he should be the head of the French nation, and be assassinated in a ball-room.’  I was assured that he believes the prophecy firmly, ’being in all things too superstitious’ and fatalistical.