PARIS, _June 10, 1846_.
When I opened the package of books I was silly enough to think I should
find a note from you, and that you would have been inspired by the
glorious sunshine. Not a line! So I had to read once more your letter
received this morning, which seemed a little stale at the second
reading. To-day is not the first time I have observed in your
correspondence, and in general in your whole attitude towards me, a sort
of impartial equilibrium. You are never nearer committing some act of
perversity than when you have just shown me a sign of your affection and
amiability. You promised to give me a day soon, but if I were to wait
for you to keep your promises the patience with which heaven has endowed
me would be exhausted.
The other day you said good-bye to me with as much indifference as that
with which you had greeted me. It was not so the previous time. It is a
curious phenomenon that water which has boiled freezes more readily than
cold water. You are an illustration of this fact in physics. When you
left me you were in your sulking mood, so I shall expect you to be
charming Wednesday. We must visit our pretty avenues again, after they
have been newly gravelled for your benefit. You will give me much
pleasure by coming. But this is not the way to appeal to you. If you
have any curiosity, I will reward it by showing you a monument of _auld
lang syne_. I will give you something besides; at least, I intended to
give you something, but you have treated me so cruelly--first in writing
the kind of letter I received this morning, and then in writing nothing
at all when you sent the books--that I am not sure whether I shall offer
you this present. Still, if you ask for it, I shall probably yield.
As you know, I have become an accomplished weather prophet. The wind is
due north-east, and this means several fine days ahead. I wish you would
pay as much attention as I do to the sun and the rain.