PARIS, _October 21, 1858_.
Here I am back in this city of Paris, where I am furious not to find
you. It begins to be cold and dismal, and still no one has returned. I
left Cannes in admirable weather, which became greyer and greyer with
every step I took towards the North.
Pity me! While in Venice I bought a chandelier, which arrived yesterday
broken in three places. The Jew who sold it to me promised to make good
any damage, but what power have I to compel him to do so?
I have not yet become accustomed to sleeping in my own bed. I feel like
a stranger here, and do not know what to do with my time. It would be
altogether different if you were in Paris.
I bought in Cannes that strange animal, the _prigadiou_, whose portrait
I have made for you. It is still alive, but I fear that you will find it
no longer in this world. It lives on flies, and flies are beginning to
be scarce. I have still a dozen which I am fattening. My friends think I
am thinner. It seems to me that my health is a trifle better than before
I went away....