Paris, March 26, 1844.

I fear the address may have seemed a little long to you. I hope it was not as cold where you were as it was on my side. I am still shivering. We ought to have taken a short walk after the ceremony. You noticed what a shocking cough I have. It might have been considered almost as intentional. Before the meeting the orator insisted that I should tell him in what part of the hall was sitting the lady to whom he had sent the invitations. Did you like him better in his costume than in a dress suit? You may persuade me of many things, but you will never be able to convince me that you were not speaking seriously about cakes when you were hungry. I uphold the use of my adjective, and you yourself even have recognised the justice of it. That was readily proved by your anger. You say you can only dream and amuse yourself. You know, besides that, how to conceal your thoughts, and this is what grieves me. Why is it, when we have become all we are to each other, that you must reflect for several days before replying frankly to the simplest question of mine? One would suppose that you suspected traps set for you on every side. Good-bye. I was delighted to see you there. I had some difficulty in finding you, hidden away behind your neighbour’s bonnet. Another example of your childishness! Did you see what I sent you, in full view of the Academy? But you are never willing to see anything.