This drawing-room is furnished in the same style as the bedroom.  The chairs and tables are oddly shaped, with claw feet and hollow mouldings.  Rich garlands of flowers, beautifully designed and carved, wind over the mirrors and hang down in festoons.  On the consoles are fine china vases.  The ground colors are scarlet and white.  My grandmother was a high-spirited, striking brunette, as might be inferred from her choice of colors.  I have found in the drawing-room a writing-table I remember well; the figures on it used to fascinate me; it is plaited in graven silver, and was a present from one of the Genoese Lomellini.  Each side of the table represents the occupations of a different season; there are hundreds of figures in each picture, and all in relief.

I remained alone for two hours, while old memories rose before me, one after another, on this spot, hallowed by the death of a woman most remarkable even among the witty and beautiful Court ladies of Louis XV.’s day.

You know how abruptly I was parted from her, at a day’s notice, in 1816.

“Go and bid good-bye to your grandmother,” said my mother.

The Princess received me as usual, without any display of feeling, and expressed no surprise at my departure.

“You are going to the convent, dear,” she said, “and will see your aunt there, who is an excellent woman.  I shall take care, though, that they don’t make a victim of you; you shall be independent, and able to marry whom you please.”

Six months later she died.  Her will had been given into the keeping of the Prince de Talleyrand, the most devoted of all her old friends.  He contrived, while paying a visit to Mlle. de Chargeboeuf, to intimate to me, through her, that my grandmother forbade me to take the vows.  I hope, sooner or later, to meet the Prince, and then I shall doubtless learn more from him.

Thus, sweetheart, if I have found no one in flesh and blood to meet me, I have comforted myself with the shade of the dear Princess, and have prepared myself for carrying out one of our pledges, which was, as you know, to keep each other informed of the smallest details in our homes and occupations.  It makes such a difference to know where and how the life of one we love is passed.  Send me a faithful picture of the veriest trifles around you, omitting nothing, not even the sunset lights among the tall trees.

October 19th.

It was three in the afternoon when I arrived.  About half-past five, Rose came and told me that my mother had returned, so I went downstairs to pay my respects to her.

My mother lives in a suite on the ground floor, exactly corresponding to mine, and in the same block.  I am just over her head, and the same secret staircase serves for both.  My father’s rooms are in the block opposite, but are larger by the whole of the space occupied by the grand staircase on our side of the building.  These ancestral mansions are so spacious, that my father and mother continue to occupy the ground-floor rooms, in spite of the social duties which have once more devolved on them with the return of the Bourbons, and are even able to receive in them.