Paris, July 9, 1848.

You are like AntÆus, who regained strength as soon as he touched the earth. No sooner do you reach your native land than you fall again into your old faults. You reply very prettily to my letter. I begged you to tell me how much longer you intended to stay away eating amiles; a date was not much trouble to write, yet you preferred three pages of circumlocutions, of which I can understand nothing, except that you would have come if you had not remained. I see, also, that you are spending your time most agreeably. I had no idea that Madame ——’s scarf was bought to use as a memento. You might have told me, at least, on whom you had thought proper to bestow it. In short, I am not at all pleased with your letter.

The days here are very long and tolerably warm, but as peaceful as could be wished, or rather hoped, under the Republic. All indications point to a long truce. The disarmament is carried on vigorously, and is producing good results. One curious symptom is observed. In the insurgent neighbourhoods are numerous informants willing to point out the hiding-places and even the leaders of the barricades. It is an encouraging sign, you know, when wolves begin to fight among themselves.

I went yesterday to Saint-Germain to order the dinner for the Bibliophilist Society, and came across a cook who was not only very capable, but, moreover, eloquent. He told me he considered it a pity that so many people object to artichokes served À la barigoule, and he understood instantly the most fantastic dishes that I proposed. This great man resides in the wing of the ChÂteau Neuf where Henry IV was born. From this spot one enjoys the most entrancing view imaginable.

Two steps away you find yourself in a forest of magnificent trees and of beautiful undergrowth, and not a living soul to enjoy it all! ‘Tis true, it takes fifty-five minutes to reach this charming place, but would it be impossible to go there some day for dinner or luncheon with Madame ——? Good-bye. Write to me soon.