Paris, August 20, 1848.

I begin to doubt if I shall see you this year. There is talk of a renewal of hostilities, and coming of the cholera will cause a complication of affairs. It is said to be already in London, and it is certainly in Berlin. For several days a fray has been expected. It is said that the discussions at the investigation will be settled by means of gun-shots. I am so obstinate in my opinions that I can not yet believe it, but I am alone in my judgment. The condition of affairs is extremely confused. It resembles the situation in Rome during the conspiracy of Catiline as closely as one drop of water resembles another. Only, here we have no Cicero.

As to the result of an insurrection, I have no doubt of the triumph of the cause of right. No one doubts this, and yet, where fools are concerned, it is useless to count on any rational move. I am wrong, it may be, to believe that the hopelessness of the cause will prevent the uprising from taking place. We shall see, however, next week. The investigation is to begin Wednesday. It seems to me to prove one thing at least, and that is the wide division existing among the Republicans. No two of them seem to be of the same mind. What is even more to be regretted is that Citizen Proudhon has an immense number of followers, and that his little sheets are sold in the slums by the thousand. All this is very sad; but, whatever may happen, the present state of affairs will continue for many days, and we must make the best of it.

Of paramount importance to me is to know if you will return the 25th. If there is to be a battle, it will be either lost or won on that day. Therefore, form no plans yet, or rather decide to come home and witness our victory, or our burial, on the 25th.

One other thing vexes me, which is that summer is passing, the warm days are going, and when you return there will be no more peaches. Already the leaves are beginning to wither and to fall. I foresee all the dreariness of the cold and the rain, and this seems to me a matter much more serious and certain than the uprising. For several days I have been ill, and this, perhaps, is why I have the blues. I need not tell you that I should be terribly disappointed to die before our breakfast at Saint Germain. I am hoping still that it may take place.

Good-bye; write to me soon. You ought not to tease people so far away.