Paris, August 12, 1848.

The warm weather will soon be over, and in a few days the cold season, which I dislike so heartily, will be upon us. I can not tell you how angry I am with you. Besides this, apricots and plums are almost gone, when I had anticipated the pleasure of eating some with you. I am perfectly sure that if you had really wished to come you would be already in Paris. I am horribly lonely, and have a great mind to go away without waiting to see you. The best I can do is to give you until the 25th, at three o’clock, not an hour more.

We are very peaceful. There is still some talk, it is true, that M. Ledru will stir up an insurrection as a means of protest against the investigation, but this is not to be taken seriously. The first condition of a fight is that both sides shall be armed with guns and ammunition. At present it is all in the possession of one side. Day before yesterday, at the Annual Prize Competition, a youngster named Leroy took a prize. The other youngsters all shouted: “Vive le roi!” General Cavaignac, who was present at the ceremony, I do not know why, laughed and took it with good grace. But when the same little rascal won another prize, the cries became so boisterous that the General lost his equanimity, and twisted his beard as if he would have enjoyed tearing it out.

Good-bye. I am terribly cross with you! Write to me immediately.