“Did you ever believe I had ideas on such a delicate subject?  Yes, dear mother, I had them.  Thus, it seemed to me there were many different styles of loving—­some vulgar, some pretentious, some foolish, and others, again, excessively comic.  None of these seemed suited to the Prince, our neighbor.  I ever felt he should love, like the Prince he is, with grace and dignity; with serious tenderness, a little stern perhaps; with amiability, but almost with condescension—­as a lover, but as a master, too—­in fine, like my husband!

   “Dear angel, who art my mother! be happy in my happiness, which was
   your sole work.  I kiss your hands—­I kiss your wings!

“I thank you!  I bless you!  I adore you!

“If you were near me, it would be too much happiness!  I should die, I think.  Nevertheless, come to us very soon.  Your chamber awaits you.  It is as blue as the heavens in which I float.  I have already told you this, but I repeat it.

“Good-by, mother of the happiest woman in the world!

“MissMary,

“Comtesse de Camors.”

...............................

“November.

“My mother: 

“You made me weep—­I who await you every morning.  I will say nothing to you, however; I will not beg you.  If the health of my grandfather seems to you so feeble as to demand your presence, I know no prayer would take you away from your duty.  Nor would I make the prayer, my angel mother!

“But exaggerate nothing, I pray you, and think your little Marie can not pass by the blue chamber without feeling a swelling of the heart.  Apart from this grief which you cause her, she continues to be as happy as even you could wish.

“Her charming Prince is ever charming and ever her Prince!  He takes her to see the monuments, the museums, the theatres, like the poor little provincial that she is.  Is it not touching on the part of so great a personage?

   “He is amused at my ecstasies—­for I have ecstasies.  Do not breathe
   it to my Uncle Des Rameures, but Paris is superb!  The days here
   count double our own for thought and life.

“My husband took me to Versailles yesterday.  I suspect that this, in the eyes of the people here, is rather a ridiculous episode; for I notice the Count did not boast of it.  Versailles corresponds entirely with the impressions you had given me of it; for there is not the slightest change since you visited it with my grandfather.

“It is grand, solemn, and cold.  There is, though, a new and very curious museum in the upper story of the palace, consisting chiefly of original portraits of the famous men of history.  Nothing pleases me more than to see these heroes of my memory passing before me in grand procession—­from Charles the Bold to George Washington.  Those