Good-bye, darling.  Don’t be angry if I don’t write.  It is impossible to get a minute to oneself in traveling; my whole time is taken up with seeing, admiring, and realizing my impressions.  But not a word to you of these till memory has given them their proper atmosphere.

XXXVIII

THE VICOMTESSE DE L’ESTORADE TO THE BARONNE DE MACUMER
September.

My dear,—­There is lying for you at Chantepleurs a full reply to the letter you wrote me from Marseilles.  This honeymoon journey, so far from diminishing the fears I there expressed, makes me beg of you to get my letter sent on from Nivernais.

The Government, it is said, are resolved on dissolution.  This is unlucky for the Crown, since the last session of this loyal Parliament would have been devoted to the passing of laws, essential to the consolidation of its power; and it is not less so for us, as Louis will not be forty till the end of 1827.  Fortunately, however, my father has agreed to stand, and he will resign his seat when the right moment arrives.

Your godson has found out how to walk without his godmother’s help.  He is altogether delicious, and begins to make the prettiest little signs to me, which bring home to one that here is really a thinking being, not a mere animal or sucking machine.  His smiles are full of meaning.  I have been so successful in my profession of nurse that I shall wean Armand in December.  A year at the breast is quite enough; children who are suckled longer are said to grow stupid, and I am all for popular sayings.

You must make a tremendous sensation in Italy, my fair one with the golden locks.  A thousand loves.

XXXIX

THE BARONNE DE MACUMER TO THE VICOMTESSE DE L’ESTORADE

Your atrocious letter has reached me here, the steward having forwarded it by my orders.  Oh!  Renee . . . but I will spare you the outburst of my wounded feelings, and simply tell you the effect your letter produced.

We had just returned from a delightful reception given in our honor by the ambassador, where I appeared in all my glory, and Macumer was completely carried away in a frenzy of love which I could not describe.  Then I read him your horrible answer to my letter, and I read it sobbing, at the risk of making a fright of myself.  My dear Arab fell at my feet, declaring that you raved.  Then he carried me off to the balcony of the palace where we are staying, from which we have a view over part of the city; there he spoke to me words worthy of the magnificent moonlight scene which lay stretched before us.  We both speak Italian now, and his love, told in that voluptuous tongue, so admirably adapted to the expression of passion, sounded in my ears like the most exquisite poetry.  He swore that, even were you right in your predictions, he would not exchange for a lifetime a single one of our blessed nights or charming mornings.