PARIS, _Tuesday night, 1843_.
All day I have expected a letter from you. This is not what has kept me
from writing before, but I have been frightfully busy. I believe the
fine weather to-day has had a solacing effect on my mood. I am no longer
angry, even if I was so, and I can think with less sorrow of your
lecture of yesterday. The clouds, perhaps, are greatly to blame for what
happened between us. Once before we quarrelled in stormy weather; it is
because our nerves get the better of us. I have a strong desire to see
you, and to know your state of mind. Suppose we attempt to-morrow to
take that walk in which we failed so disastrously yesterday? What do you
think of it? Your pride will, of course, not respond to this suggestion,
but I am now appealing to your heart.
It will be very kind of you to send me an answer before noon to-morrow,
whether you will or will not come. Do not come, however, if you are in a
bad humour or if you have a previous engagement, and, above all, if you
have the slightest doubt that our walk will obliterate the hideous
impressions of yesterday.