On my return this evening from the Estorades, on whom I had paid my parting call, I found your letter, my dear friend, in which you announce your coming arrival.  I shall await you to-morrow during the day, but in the evening I must, without further delay, start for Arcis-sur-Aube, where, in the course of the next week my political matters will come to a head.  What particular hold I may have on that town, which, as it appears, I have the ambition to represent, and on what co-operation and assistance I may rely,—­in a word, who is making my electoral bed,—­all that I know as little about as I did last year when I was told for the first time that I must enter political life.

A few days ago I received a second letter from my father, postmarked Paris this time, and not Stockholm.  Judging by the style of the document, it would not surprise me if the “eminent services” rendered in a Northern court by the mysterious author of my days turned out to be those of a Prussian corporal.  It would be impossible to issue orders in a more imperative tone, or to dwell more minutely on trifling particulars.

The note or memorandum was headed thus:  What my son is to do.

On receipt of these instructions I am to send to its destination the Saint-Ursula; to superintend the packing and boxing of it myself, and to despatch it by the fastest carrier, to Mother Marie-des-Anges, superior of the convent of the Ursulines at Arcis-sur-Aube.

The order went on to say that I was to follow the statue in a few days, so as to arrive at the said Arcis-sur-Aube not later than the 3rd of May.  Even the inn at which I was to put up was dictated.  I would find myself expected at the Hotel de la Poste; so that if I happen to prefer any of the others I must resign that fancy.  I am also enjoined to publish in the newspapers on the day of my departure the fact that I present myself as candidate in the electoral arrondissement of Arcis-sur-Aube; avoiding, however, to make any profession of political faith, which would be both useless and premature.  The document ended with an injunction which, while it humiliated me somewhat, gave me a certain faith in what was happening.  The Mongenod Brothers, and draw for another sum of two hundred and fifty thousand francs, which is to be deposited in my name, “taking the utmost care,” continued my instructions, “when transporting this money from Paris to Arcis-sur-Aube that it be not lost or stolen.”

What do you think of that last clause, dear friend?  That sum is to be deposited; then it is not already there; and suppose it is not there?—­Besides, what am I to do with it in Arcis?  Am I to stand my election on English principles? if so, a profession of political faith would certainly be useless and premature.  As to the advice not to lose or allow to be stolen the money in my possession, do you not think that that is making me rather juvenile?  I feel an inclination to suck my thumb and cry for a rattle.  However, I shall let myself go with the current that is bearing me along, and, notwithstanding the news of your coming arrival, after paying a visit to the Brothers Mongenod, I shall valiantly start, imagining the stupefaction of the good people of Arcis on seeing another candidate pop up in their midst like a Jack-in-the-box.