_Moscow,
February._
For America I start, though to Rome I must go on the way. I am
flattered that you say you read our Russian authors. But read a little
French poetry, too, some very beautiful but destructive to the morals.
My little blond rose, though very young, knows how to fish for
hearts--the Parisian need not teach her that, for she has already
caught many.
I have not written to you for days because you tell me you are
engaged, but if so, why is it American Diplomat he not go to you soon
like me? Is it a pretty divorcée holds him yet, as you say “with the
come hither eye?” She is much _éprise_ of him, I hear. But I should
not tell you this. That she has returned to Rome many weeks ago, you
know already, yes? I kiss your hand.
* * * * *