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.