his destined bride of old, the dream of his youth, had no brains.  Oh! my dear, I am worse than a ballet-dancer!  If you knew what joy that slighting remark gave me!  I have pointed out to Felipe that she does not speak French correctly.  She says esemple for exemple, sain for cinq, cheu for je.  She is beautiful of course, but quite without charm or the slightest scintilla of wit.  When a compliment is paid her, she looks at you as though she didn’t know what to do with such a strange thing.  Felipe, being what he is, could not have lived two months with Marie after his marriage.  Don Fernand, the Duc de Soria, suits her very well.  He has generous instincts, but it’s easy to see he has been a spoilt child.  I am tempted to be naughty and make you laugh; but I won’t draw the long bow.  Ever so much love, darling.

XLII

RENEE TO LOUISE

My little girl is two months old.  She is called Jeanne-Athenais, and has for godmother and godfather my mother, and an old grand-uncle of Louis’.

As soon as I possibly can, I shall start for my visit to Chantepleurs, since you are not afraid of a nursing mother.  Your godson can say your name now; he calls it Matoumer, for he can’t say c properly.  You will be quite delighted with him.  He has got all his teeth, and eats meat now like a big boy; he is all over the place, trotting about like a little mouse; but I watch him all the time with anxious eyes, and it makes me miserable that I cannot keep him by me when I am laid up.  The time is more than usually long with me, as the doctors consider some special precautions necessary.  Alas! my child, habit does not inure one to child-bearing.  There are the same old discomforts and misgivings.  However (don’t show this to Felipe), this little girl takes after me, and she may yet cut out your Armand.

My father thought Felipe looking very thin, and my dear pet also not quite so blooming.  Yet the Duc and Duchesse de Soria have gone; not a loophole for jealousy is left!  Is there any trouble which you are hiding from me?  Your letter is neither so long nor so full of loving thoughts as usual.  Is this only a whim of my dear whimsical friend?

I am running on too long.  My nurse is angry with me for writing, and Mlle. Athenais de l’Estorade wants her dinner.  Farewell, then; write me some nice long letters.

XLIII

MME. DE MACUMER TO THE COMTESSE DE L’ESTORADE

For the first time in my life, my dear Renee, I have been alone and crying.  I was sitting under a willow, on a wooden bench by the side of the long Chantepleurs marsh.  The view there is charming, but it needs some merry children to complete it, and I wait for you.  I have been married nearly three years, and no child!  The thought of your quiver full drove me to explore my heart.