Paris, Monday, June 15, 1851.

My mother is better, and will, I think, be entirely well again in a few days. I was very anxious, and feared pneumonia. I appreciate the interest you have shown in her health.

I went out yesterday for the first time in a week to see the Spanish dancers, who are on exhibition at the Princess Mathilde’s. They impressed me as mediocre. The dance at the Jardin Mabille has ruined the popularity of the bolero. Moreover, those ladies wore such a quantity of crinoline behind and such a lot of cotton in front that it is easy to see civilisation is invading everything. I was amused especially in watching a little girl of about twelve years, accompanied by an aged duenna. They could not overcome their surprise to find themselves outside of holy ground, and were both as ill at ease and boorish as could be wished.

I have just received your cushion. You are, indeed, a skilled needle-woman, an accomplishment of which I should never have suspected you. Both the selection of colours and the embroidery are remarkably beautiful. My mother admires it extremely. As for the design, the hint which you were good enough to give me was sufficient to make me understand its meaning. I do not know how to thank you.

Saint Evremont joins me here. I lost him, and have had to exert my memory to its utmost ability in order to find him again. You must tell me what you think of PÈre Canaye. I find that after him it is impossible to read anything more of the nineteenth century.

Good-bye.