PARIS, _August 5, 1843_.
I was awaiting your letter with great impatience, and the longer it
delayed the more I expected evidences of second thoughts, with all their
unpleasant consequences. As I was prepared for all manner of injustice
from you, your letter affected me more favourably than it would have
done at another time. You tell me that you, too, have been happy, and
this assurance cancels all the others that precede and follow it. This
is the best thing you have said to me for an age, and it is almost the
only time when I have thought you had a heart not unlike others.
What a glorious walk that was! I am not at all ill, and I was happy
enough the other day to store up health and good spirits for a long time
to come. If happiness is of short duration, it can be renewed.
Unfortunately, the weather is bad, and besides you speak of going away.
Perhaps this rainy weather has destroyed your desire to travel. From me
it takes even the energy to form new plans. If, however, there should
come a good day before you leave, would it not be well for us to take
advantage of it, and to say a long farewell to our park and our woods? I
shall not see their trees again this year, at least, and the thought
saddens me. I hope that you, too, feel the same regret. When you
discover a ray of sunshine let me know, and we will visit once more our
chestnut trees and our mountain. You gave me and ourselves a passing
thought for one brief moment, but will the memory of it not remain for a
long, long time?