Champs Elysées,
_Friday, 26th August_.
[Sidenote: _A Visit to the Dentist_]
Dearest Mamma,--You will be surprised to see this address, but Héloise
and I are only staying here for the night, and go back to Croixmare
to-morrow. Early this morning she had bad toothache, and said she must
go to Paris to see her dentist Godmamma and Jean made as much fuss
about it as if the poor thing had suggested something quite unheard of;
and one could see how she was suffering, by the way she kept her
handkerchief up to her face. Godmamma said she could not possibly
accompany her, as she had to pay some important calls; and Jean had
promised to be at St. Germain to see some horses with the Vicomte, so
Héloise suggested I should go with her; and that we should stay the
night at the _appartement_ in the Champs Elysées, so that she could
have two appointments with M. Adam, the dentist. She has such beautiful
teeth, it seems hard that they should ache, and I felt very sorry for
her. After a lot of talking it was arranged that we should go up by
the 11 o'clock train, and accordingly we started with as much fuss as
if we had been departing for a month. We had no sooner got to Paris
than Héloise felt better. She left me to go on with the maids and
luggage to the Champs Elysées, while she went to see M. Adam.
Paris looked out-of-seasonish and full of Americans as we drove
through. I am sitting in the little salon now, waiting for her to come
in, and I have got awfully tired just looking out of the window.
Everything is covered up with brown holland, but I dare say it is nice
when they are here. The tapestries are beautiful, so is the furniture,
judging by the piece I have lifted the coverings from. If she does not
come in soon I shall go for a walk with Agnès.
[Sidenote: _Paris in August_]
_9 p.m._--Héloise came in just as I was writing this morning, and we
had a scrappy kind of _déjeûner_ on the corner of the dining-room
table. Then she said we had better go to her _couturier_ in the Rue de
la Paix. She seemed all right now, and said M. Adam had not hurt her
much, and that she was to go to him again to-morrow morning. I always
like Paris even out of the season, don't you, Mamma? it is so gay. We
had a little victoria and rushed along, not minding who we ran into, as
is always the way with French cabs. When we got to Paquin's there were
nobody but Americans there, and every one looked tired. Héloise tried
on her things, and we went to Caroline's for some hats. They were too
lovely, and Héloise gave me a dream; it's an owl lighting on a
cornfield, which perhaps is a little incongruous as they only come out
at night, but the effect is good.
After that she said she felt she should like to go and see her
_confesseur_ at the Madeleine, and we started there on the chance of
finding him. She kept looking at her watch, so I suppose she was afraid
he would be gone. We stopped at the bottom of the big steps, and she
said if I would not mind waiting a minute she would go in and see. I
always thought one only confessed in the morning, but she seemed so
anxious about it that perhaps if you have anything particular on your
mind you can get it off in the afternoon; it might have been the
stories she told about Victorine's liking flowers. I thought she would
never come back, she was such a time, quite three-quarters of an hour;
and it was horrid sitting there alone, with every creature staring as
they passed.
Directly after she went in I caught a glimpse of "Antoine" in a
_coupé_, going at a great pace, but I could not make him see me before
he had turned down the street that goes to the back of the Madeleine. I
wish he had seen me, for, although I never like him very much, he would
have been better than nobody to talk to. I believe I should have even
been glad to see Lord Valmond. At last I got so cross, what with the
people staring, and the heat and the smells, that I jumped out and went
to look for Héloise in the church. She was nowhere to be seen, and I
did not like to peer into every box I came to, so at last I was going
back to the cab again, when from the end door that leads out into the
other street at the back, the rue Tronchet, she came tearing along
completely _essoufflée_. So I suppose there must be some confessing
place beyond. She seemed quite cross with me for having come to find
her, and said it was not at all proper to walk about a church alone,
which does seem odd, doesn't it, Mamma? As one would have thought if
there was any place really respectable to stroll in, it would have been
a church.
[Sidenote: _Church Etiquette_]
I told her how bored I was, and about "Antoine" passing, and how I had
tried to make him see. She seemed more annoyed than ever, and said I
_must_ have made some mistake, as "Antoine" was not in Paris. She was
awfully shocked at the idea of my wanting to speak to him in the street
anyway, and said I surely must know it was the custom here for the men
to bow first. She was altogether so cross and excited and different
that I felt sure her _confesseur_ must have given her some disagreeable
penance. We went for a drive in the Bois after that, and Héloise
recovered, and was nice to me. We met the Marquise de Vermandoise and a
young man walking in one of the side _allées_, and when I wanted to
wave to them Héloise pinched me, and made me look the other way; and
when I asked why, she said it was not very good form to "see" people in
Paris out of the Season--that one never was sure what they were there
for--and that I was certainly not to mention it either at Tournelle or
Croixmare! Isn't this a queer country, Mamma?
[Sidenote: _Morals and Manners_]
We drove until quite late, and just as we were arriving at the door,
who should pass but the Marquis? He stopped at once and helped us out.
Héloise told him directly that we were only up seeing the dentist, and
seemed in a great hurry to get into the _porte cocher_; but he was not
to be shaken off, and stopped talking to us for about five minutes. He
is quite amusing; he looked at me all the time he was talking to
Héloise. I am sure, Mamma, from what the people at Nazeby talked about,
he would have asked us to dine and go to a play if he had been an
Englishman, and I told Héloise so. She said no Frenchman would dream of
such a thing--us two alone--it was unheard of! and she only hoped no
one had seen us talking to him in the street as it was! I said I liked
the English way best, as in that case we should be going out and
enjoying ourselves, instead of eating a snatchy meal alone.
It is now nine o'clock, and all the evening we have had to put up with
just sitting on the balcony. It has been dull, and I am off to bed, so
good-night, dear Mamma. I shan't come up to Paris with French people
again in a hurry!--Your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.