Paris, July 21, 1859.

My letter of yesterday crossed with yours. That is to say, it was no letter that you sent me, but a most exasperating curl-paper. I can readily fancy the frivolous life you are leading, now that you are reassured as to your brother’s safety.

I am really ill, from the effects of the intense heat, and from the absolute lack of sleep and appetite. I doubt not that in both respects you have nothing of which to complain. It seems to me at times that I am making rapid strides towards the tomb. This thought is sometimes most persistent, and I should like to be diverted from it. This is one reason why I wish so eagerly to see you. You will receive both of my letters at the same time. I hope you will answer explicitly and literally.

I am reading the Letters of Madame du Deffand, which will amuse you tremendously. It gives a picture of a society which is agreeable, and not altogether frivolous, much less so, indeed, than is generally supposed. That which impresses me as entirely unlike the present time, is, in the first place, the universal desire to be agreeable, and the trouble that each one thinks himself obliged to take; in the second place, it is the sincerity and fidelity of the affections. These people were much kinder than me, and than you, whom I love no longer.

Good-bye. I am in too bad a humour to write more. For several days I have been again troubled by palpitation, and I am horribly weak and nervous.