Thursday night, March 15, 1844.

It[10] has pleased me the more keenly because I expected to be defeated. The returns were reported to me as they were counted. It seemed impossible for me to win. My mother, who had been suffering for several days from an acute attack of rheumatism, was cured on the spot. Now I have all the greater desire to see you. Come and find out if I love you more or less, and that as soon as possible. I am now suffering for all the visits I have made, for I must thank everybody, friends and enemies alike, to show that I am magnanimous. I had the good fortune to be black-balled by some men I detest, for it is a cause for thankfulness not to be obliged to carry a burden of gratitude to people whom you dislike. Write to me, I pray you, and tell me when you will allow me to see you.

I have a great desire to take a long walk with you.

You are a witch, indeed, to have foreseen the result as you did. My Homer deceived me, or, it may be, it was to M. Vatout that his threatening prediction was directed.

Good-bye, dearest friend! Between my proof-reading, my reports to make out, and, in a measure also, the worry that I have endured for three days, I have scarcely found time to sleep. I am going to try now. I have some amusing incidents to tell you of men and things.