k of the l'Estorades, that is all. You will
be buried in the provinces. Are these the promises we made each other?
Were I you, I would sooner set off to the Hyeres islands in a caique,
on the chance of being captured by an Algerian corsair and sold to the
Grand Turk. Then I should be a Sultana some day, and wouldn't I make a
stir in the harem while I was young--yes, and afterwards too!

You are leaving one convent to enter another. I know you; you are a
coward, and you will submit to the yoke of family life with a lamblike
docility. But I am here to direct you; you must come to Paris. There
we shall drive the men wild and hold a court like queens. Your husband,
sweetheart, in three years from now may become a member of the Chamber.
I know all about members now, and I will explain it to you. You will
work that machine very well; you can live in Paris, and become there
what my mother calls a woman of fashion. Oh! you needn't suppose I will
leave you in your grange!

Monday.

For a whole fortnight now, my dear, I have been living the life of
society; one evening at the Italiens, another at the Grand Opera, and
always a ball afterwards. Ah! society is a witching world. The music of
the Opera enchants me; and whilst my soul is plunged in divine pleasure,
I am the centre of admiration and the focus of all the opera-glasses.
But a single glance will make the boldest youth drop his eyes.

I have seen some charming young men there; all the same, I don't care
for any of them; not one has roused in me the emotion which I feel when
I listen to Garcia in his splendid duet with Pellegrini in _Otello_.
Heavens! how jealous Rossini must have been to express jealousy so well!
What a cry in "Il mio cor si divide!" I'm speaking Greek to you, for you
never heard Garcia, but then you know how jealous I am!

What a wretched dramatist Shakespeare is! Othello is in love with glory;
he wins battles, he gives orders, he struts about and is all over the
place while Desdemona sits at home; and Desdemona, who sees herself
neglected for the silly fuss of public life, is quite meek all the time.
Such a sheep deserves to be slaughtered. Let the man whom I deign to
love beware how he thinks of anything but loving me!

For my part, I like those long trials of the old-fashioned chivalry.
That lout of a young lord, who took offence because his sovereign-lady
sent him down among the lions to fetch her glove, was, in my opinion,
very impertinent, and