DEAR SIR,—I thank you—from the midst of such a flurry as you can
imagine, with seven months' accumulated correspondence on my table—for
your two friendly and clever letters. Pray write me again. I shall
be home in May or June, and not improbably shall come to Paris in the
summer. Then we can talk; or in the interval I may be able to write,
which is to-day out of the question. Pray take a word from a man of
crushing occupations, and count it as a volume. Your little _conte_ is
delightful. Ah yes, you are right, I love the eighteenth century; and
so do you, and have not listened to its voice in vain.—The Hunted One,