_Honolulu_, _Sandwich Islands_, _February_ 8_th_, 1889.
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,