Moulins, September 27, 1852.

... I have been very ill, and am still suffering from languor, which is intensified from the fact that the remedy which brought me around, that is to say, the north wind, has given me a cold. It is excessively enervating, and with my sleepless nights and constant running about, it is not likely to mend. For forty-five hours I have had such a tendency to congestion of the brain that I thought I was soon to see the land of the shades. I was entirely alone, and treated myself, or rather I did not treat myself at all, being in a condition of physical and moral prostration which rendered extremely painful the least exertion. I felt, of course, some disquietude at the thought of going to an unknown world, but to make any resistance seemed to be still more disquieting. It is, I think, through such stolid resignation that one makes his exit from this world, not because illness gains the victory, but because one has become indifferent to everything, and makes no defence.

I am waiting here until a monsignore with whom I have business comes out of retreat. It is highly probable that I shall have to run around for two or three days to find him, after which I shall return to Paris. To-morrow will be my birthday, and I should like to spend it with you. It happens always that I am alone and horribly depressed on this day....