PARIS, _Sunday, January 16, 1843_.
I thank you for having thought to reassure me, but I am anxious about
those flushed cheeks of which you speak so lightly. I regret sincerely,
I assure you, that my persuasions brought you out in that frightful
downpour. It happens seldom that I sacrifice others to myself, and when
this does occur I am overcome with remorse. Anyhow, you are not ill, and
you are not angry, which is the most important consideration.
It is a blessing that a small misfortune arises now and then to turn
aside greater ones. We must give the devil his due. It seems to me we
were both depressed, although happy enough at heart. Some joys are so
deep that they do not show on the surface. I hope you felt a little of
what I experienced. Until you tell me the contrary, I shall believe that
you did. You say twice in your letter, “Good-bye, until we meet again!”
You are sincere, are you not? But where and when shall it be? My last
suggestion proved to be so unfortunate, that I am altogether
discouraged. Henceforth I shall trust your inspirations only.
I have a wretched cold this evening, but the rain is not responsible for
it, I fancy. I spent the entire morning in a room without fire,
examining Chaldean and Persian talismans and rings, while the
antiquarian was dying for fear I should steal them. Just to tease him, I
remained in the cold room longer than my wishes inclined me.
Good-night, and may we soon meet. It is now your turn to command. Were
it only to have you assure me that the rain has not given you a cold, or
made you despondent or vexed, I should like to see you.