_Wednesday, June 26, 1867._
DEAR FRIEND: Would it not have been better to bring me your flowers
yourself? You have pained me greatly in sending them. I am still very
ill; but how can I get well in such weather?
Read Sainte-Beuve’s speech;[37] it will amuse you. It is impossible for
one to be more witty. But if he really wishes what he asked for, he has
taken the best means of being refused. I do not know what will be the
result of his interchange of epigrams with M. Lacaze, but I fear it will
end in a duel. It is impossible to conceive of the expression of hatred
and profound scorn on his face as he read, for he read his speech, which
was somewhat detrimental to its effect.
I have sent you my condolences on the loss of your purse at the
Exposition. Return the compliment, for I have left mine in a carriage.
I am inquiring everywhere for tickets for the ceremony of July 1st. I am
unwilling to take any but the best places for you, and I can find none.