Hotel Frascati, Havre,
_Sunday, 21st August_.
[Sidenote: _Havre to Trouville_]
Dearest Mamma,--I am sorry our nice voyage is nearly finished, for we
go over to Trouville this evening, and from there by train back to
Vinant. The river is not nearly so pretty after you leave Caudebec, but
Tancarville is fine, and looks very imposing sitting up so high. The
Vicomte has been talking to me all the time, but Jean stays by. We were
dusty and sun-burnt by the time we got to Havre, and Héloise and the
Marquise and I started at once for the big baths. They do not quite
join the hotel, so we covered a good deal of absence, in the way of
dress, by our faithful mackintoshes and trotted across. On the steps we
met de Tournelle just coming out from the baths; he laughed when he saw
us, and said he had never before realised that garments of so much
respectability could have such possibilities! Oh! how nice to have a
real bath again!
[Sidenote: _A Gay Dinner_]
Agnès hasn't enjoyed this trip much, I can see. Heaven knows where she
has slept! I thought it wiser not to ask. We had such a gay dinner. I
am getting accustomed to shouting across the table at every one; it
will feel quite queer just talking to one's neighbour when I get back
to England. The restaurant at Frascati isn't at all bad, and it was
agreeable to have proper food again.
Hippolyte thinks we are awfully greedy; he was heard yesterday
grumbling to the Baronne's maid, "Mais où diable est-ce que ces dames
mettent tout ce qu'elles mangent? Elles goblottent toute la journée!"
After dinner we drank our coffee on the terrace and listened to the
band. Héloise would hardly speak to "Antoine" all day, and he looked
perfectly miserable, and Madame de Vermandoise every now and then
laughed to herself--I don't know what at. However we took a walk on the
pier presently, and as there was such a crowd we weren't able to walk
all together as usual, but had to go two and two. "Antoine" walked with
Héloise, and I suppose they made it up. I just caught this: "N'oubliez
jamais, bien chère Madame, qu'une église a deux portes." Héloise said
she would not forget, and he thanked her rapturously; but what it meant
I don't know. They have both smiled often since so I expect it is some
French idiom for reconciliation.
The crowd on the pier was common, and we returned to Frascati's garden.
It was so fearfully hot, that beyond wondering if the dew was falling,
no one suggested we should get cold, as they always do. It really has
been a delightful trip, and I have enjoyed it so. They are all
charming. They seem to have kinder hearts than some of the people at
Nazeby, but what strikes one as quite different is that every one is
witty; they are making epigrams or clever _tournures de phrases_ all
the time, and don't seem to talk of the teeny weeny things we do in
England. They have most exquisite manners, and extraordinarily
unpleasant personal habits, like eating, and coughing, and picking
their teeth, etc.; but they do have nice under-clothes, and lovely
soaps and scents and things.
[Sidenote: _Views for Victorine_]
The Frascati beds were comfortable, and I could not wake in the
morning, in spite of Agnès fussing about. The Vicomte has awakened
every one each day by rapping at their doors, but this morning I was at
last aroused by Héloise, who had the next room, and we had our coffee
together. She says she does hope soon to get Victorine married, and
that they have a nephew of the Baronne's in view, but he has not seen
her yet. It appears it is easier to get them off if they are quiet
looking and dowdy, but not so aggressive as Victorine. You haven't much
chance if you are very pretty and lively; as she says, the men only
like you to be that when you are married to some one else. Héloise
wishes to have everything smart as the Tournelles have, but Godmamma
and Victorine are always against her. She says life there is for ever
eating _galette de plomp_, which I suppose means a suet pudding
feeling. We all went to High Mass at eleven; it was very pretty, and
such a good-looking priest handed the bag. I should hate to be a
priest; shouldn't you, Mamma? You mayn't even look at any one nice.
We breakfasted at Frascati, but we were a little bit gloomy at our trip
being over. This afternoon they have nearly all gone for a drive in hired
motor cars, but I haven't a hat here that would stay on, so I am writing
to you instead, and we cross over to Trouville at five o'clock in the
ordinary boat, as it is too rough for the _Sauterelle_.--Good-bye, dear
Mamma, your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.
[Sidenote: _A Full-blown Bride_]
_P.S._--I forgot to tell you the story of the "_Côte des deux
Amants._" You know the fearfully straight, steep hill we have often
noticed from the train if you go to Paris from Dieppe. Well, Hippolyte
told us the story when we passed it. It is quite close from the river,
and looks as if it had been cut with a knife, it is so steep. It
appears that in the Middle Ages there was a castle on the top, and
there lived a Comte who had a tremendously stout daughter. He said no
one should have her and her fortune unless he was strong enough to
carry her from the bottom to the top of the hill. Hundreds tried--it
was a beauty then to be fat--but every one dropped her half-way, and
the poor thing got "très fatiguée d'être plantée comme ça," when a
handsome cavalier came along, and he succeeded. His snorts of
out-of-breathness could be heard for miles, but he got her to the top
and then fell dead at her feet; and she went into a convent and died.
Hippolyte said also that the other ending of the story was, that she
got so thin from pining for the knight that the next one who came along
had no difficulty, and so they married and lived happy ever after. But
I like the tragic end best. And he said that the peasants still declare
they can hear the knight wheezing on moonlight nights, but "Antoine"
said it was probably a traction engine. And I don't think it nice of
him; do you, Mamma?