PARIS, _Saturday night, June 23, 1843_.
I was beginning to be extremely anxious about you. I have been afraid
that you had suffered from being in the dampness so long, and blamed
myself for being so tedious in telling you that silly story. Since you
did not catch cold, and are not angry with me, I can now remember with
pleasure every moment that we spent together. I agree with you that on
that day we were more perfectly--if perfection can be compared--happy
than we had ever been before. Why was it? We said nothing, or did
nothing extraordinary, unless it was that we did not quarrel. And
observe, if you please, that our quarrels always begin with you. I have
yielded to you on an infinite number of points, but for all that I have
not been sullen about it. I should be delighted if the pleasant memory
of that day would be profitable to you in the future. Why do you not
tell me at once what your letter explains only so so, and yet with a
certain frankness that pleases me?...
I am flattered to know that my story amused you. At the same time, my
author’s vanity is wounded that you are satisfied with my sketchy
outline, for I had hoped that you would ask to read it, or to have it
read to you. Since you do not care for it, however, I must be resigned.
Nevertheless, if the weather is fine Tuesday, what is to prevent our
sitting on our rustic bench while I read it to you? It will take but an
hour. Better still, let us simply walk. Are you willing? It must be
understood that there are to be no arguments. Write me your final
decision. I went to the station to meet Madame de M. and her daughters,
all three looking splendidly. There is nothing definite as to my
departure, although, judging from the indications, it will probably be
very soon. You need not expect me, however, to say good-bye next time I
see you.