Paris, June 26, 1870.

Dear Friend: I have been ill for a month. It is impossible for me to do anything, even read. I am a great sufferer, and have little hope. This may endure, perhaps, a long time.

I have put one of the shelves of my library in order, and am keeping for you the Lettres de Madame de SÉvignÉ, in twelve volumes, and a small Shakespeare. When you return to Paris I will send them to you. I thank you for thinking of me.