, level and easy, shaded with evergreen trees. This
century will not see another Bonaparte; and my children, if I have
any, will not be rent from me. They will be mine to train and make men
of--the joy of my life. If you also are true to your destiny, you
who ought to find your mate amongst the great ones of the earth, the
children of your Renee will not lack a zealous protectress.

Farewell, then, for me at least, to the romances and thrilling
adventures in which we used ourselves to play the part of heroine. The
whole story of my life lies before me now; its great crises will be
the teething and nutrition of the young Masters de l'Estorade, and the
mischief they do to my shrubs and me. To embroider their caps, to
be loved and admired by a sickly man at the mouth of the Gemenos
valley--there are my pleasures. Perhaps some day the country dame may go
and spend a winter in Marseilles; but danger does not haunt the purlieus
of a narrow provincial stage. There will be nothing to fear, not even an
admiration such as could only make a woman proud. We shall take a great
deal of interest in the silkworms for whose benefit our mulberry-leaves
will be sold! We shall know the strange vicissitudes of life in
Provence, and the storms that may attack even a peaceful household.
Quarrels will be impossible, for M. de l'Estorade has formally announced
that he will leave the reins in his wife's hands; and as I shall
do nothing to remind him of this wise resolve, it is likely he may
persevere in it.

You, my dear Louise, will supply the romance of my life. So you must
narrate to me in full all your adventures, describe your balls and
parties, tell me what you wear, what flowers crown your lovely golden
locks, and what are the words and manners of the men you meet. Your
other self will be always there--listening, dancing, feeling her
finger-tips pressed--with you. If only I could have some fun in Paris
now and then, while you played the house-mother at La Crampade! such
is the name of our grange. Poor M. de l'Estorade, who fancies he is
marrying one woman! Will he find out there are two?

I am writing nonsense now, and as henceforth I can only be foolish by
proxy, I had better stop. One kiss, then, on each cheek--my lips are
still virginal, he has only dared to take my hand. Oh! our deference and
propriety are quite disquieting, I assure you. There, I am off again....
Good-bye, dear.

_P. S._--I have just opened your third letter. My