faces my imagination has so often tried to evoke, that it seems to me we are in the Elysian Fields, and hold converse with the dead: 

“You must know, my mother, I was familiar with many things that surprised M. de Camors very much.  He was greatly struck by my knowledge of science and my genius.  I did no more, as you may imagine, than respond to his questions; but it seemed to astonish him that I could respond at all.

   “Why should he ask me these things?  If he did not know how to
   distinguish the different Princesses of Conti, the answer is simple.

   “But I knew, because my mother taught me.  That is simple enough
   too.

“We dined afterward, at my suggestion, at a restaurant.  Oh, my mother! this was the happiest moment of my life!  To dine at a restaurant with my husband was the most delightful of all dissipations!

“I have said he seemed astonished at my learning.  I ought to add in general, he seemed astonished whenever I opened my lips.  Did he imagine me a mute?  I speak little, I acknowledge, however, for he inspires me with a ceaseless fear:  I am afraid of displeasing him, of appearing silly before him, or pretentious, or pedantic.  The day when I shall be at ease with him, and when I can show him my good sense and gratitude—­if that day ever comes—­I shall be relieved of a great weight on my mind, for truly I sometimes fear he looks on me as a child.

   “The other day I stopped before a toy-shop on the Boulevard.  What a
   blunder!  And as he saw my eye fixed on a magnificent squadron of
   dolls—­

   “‘Do you wish one, Miss Mary?’ he said.

“Was not this horrible, my mother—­from him who knows everything except the Princesses of Conti?  He explained everything to me; but briefly in a word, as if to a person he despaired of ever making understand him.  And I understand so well all the time, my poor little mother!

“But so much the better, say I; for if he loves me while thinking me
silly, what will it be later!

“With fond love, your

“Marie.”

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

“December.

“All Paris has returned once more, my dear mother, and for fifteen days I have been occupied with visits.  The men here do not usually visit; but my husband is obliged to present me for the first time to the persons I ought to know.  He accompanies me there, which is much more agreeable to me than to him, I believe.

“He is more serious than usual.  Is not this the only form in which amiable men show their bad humor?  The people we visit look on me with a certain interest.  The woman whom this great lord has honored with his choice is evidently an object of great curiosity.  This flatters and intimidates me; I blush and feel constrained; I appear awkward.  When they find me awkward