Saturday Morning.
The two or three letters, which I have written to you lately, my love,
will serve as an answer to your explanatory one. I cannot but respect
your motives and conduct. I always respected them; and was only hurt, by
what seemed to me a want of confidence, and consequently affection.—I
thought also, that if you were obliged to stay three months at H—, I
might as well have been with you.—Well! well, what signifies what I
brooded over—Let us now be friends!
I shall probably receive a letter from you to-day, sealing my pardon—and
I will be careful not to torment you with my querulous humours, at
least, till I see you again. Act as circumstances direct, and I will not
enquire when they will permit you to return, convinced that you will
hasten to your * * * *, when you have attained (or lost sight of) the
object of your journey.
What a picture have you sketched of our fire-side! Yes, my love, my
fancy was instantly at work, and I found my head on your shoulder,
whilst my eyes were fixed on the little creatures that were clinging to
your knees. I did not absolutely determine that there should be six—if
you have not set your heart on this round number.
I am going to dine with Mrs. ——. I have not been to visit her since the
first day she came to Paris. I wish indeed to be out in the air as much
as I can; for the exercise I have taken these two or three days past,
has been of such service to me, that I hope shortly to tell you, that I
am quite well, I have scarcely slept before last night, and then not
much.—The two Mrs. ——s have been very anxious and tender.
Yours truly
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