“I am much pleased with you, and I hope we shall remain good friends.”

The words struck me as charmingly naive, but I did not let this appear, for I saw at once that the prudent course was to allow her to believe herself much deeper and cleverer than her daughter.  So I only stared vacantly and she was delighted.  I kissed her hands repeatedly, telling her how happy it made me to be so treated and to feel at my ease with her.  I even confided to her my previous tremors.  She smiled, put her arm round my neck, and drawing me towards her, kissed me on the forehead most affectionately.

“Dear child,” she said, “we have people coming to dinner to-day.  Perhaps you will agree with me that it is better for you not to make your first appearance in society till you have been in the dressmaker’s hands; so, after you have seen your father and brother, you can go upstairs again.”

I assented most heartily.  My mother’s exquisite dress was the first revelation to me of the world which our dreams had pictured; but I did not feel the slightest desire to rival her.

My father now entered, and the Duchess presented me to him.

He became all at once most affectionate, and played the father’s part so well, that I could not but believe his heart to be in it.  Taking my two hands in his, and kissing them, with more of the lover than the father in his manner, he said: 

“So this is my rebel daughter!”

And he drew me towards him, with his arm passed tenderly round my waist, while he kissed me on the cheeks and forehead.

“The pleasure with which we shall watch your success in society will atone for the disappointment we felt at your change of vocation,” he said.  Then, turning to my mother, “Do you know that she is going to turn out very pretty, and you will be proud of her some day?—­Here is your brother, Rhetore.—­Alphonse,” he said to a fine young man who came in, “here is your convent-bred sister, who threatens to send her nun’s frock to the deuce.”

My brother came up in a leisurely way and took my hand, which he pressed.

“Come, come, you may kiss her,” said my father.

And he kissed me on both cheeks.

“I am delighted to see you,” he said, “and I take your side against my father.”

I thanked him, but could not help thinking he might have come to Blois when he was at Orleans visiting our Marquis brother in his quarters.

Fearing the arrival of strangers, I now withdrew.  I tidied up my rooms, and laid out on the scarlet velvet of my lovely table all the materials necessary for writing to you, meditating all the while on my new situation.

This, my fair sweetheart, is a true and veracious account of the return of a girl of eighteen, after an absence of nine years, to the bosom of one of the noblest families in the kingdom.  I was tired by the journey as well as by all the emotions I had been through, so I went to bed in convent fashion, at eight o’clock after supper.  They have preserved even a little Saxe service which the dear Princess used when she had a fancy for taking her meals alone.