very unsophisticated indeed if I did not consider myself sufficiently
enlightened. I implore you not to speak to me of your hero whom you wish
me to marry; I am determined never to marry. I shall love an image,
cherish a star. The little light has returned. I see it shining as I
write to you. Yes, these poetic loves are all-sufficient for my wounded
soul. One thing disturbs me; they have cut down the large trees in front
of my window. To-morrow, perhaps, I shall at last see the being that
dwells in this fraternal garret.... Valentine--suppose it should be my
long-sought ideal!... I tremble! perhaps a third disenchantment awaits
me.... Good-night, my dear Valentine, I embrace you. I am very tired,
but very happy ... it is so delightful to be relieved of all uneasiness,
to feel that you are not compelled to console any one.

IRENE DE CHATEAUDUN.

XXX.

EDGAR DE MEILHAN _to the_ PRINCE DE MONBERT,
Poste Restante (Rouen).

PARIS, July 27th 18--.

My dear Roger, at the risk of bringing down upon my head the ridicule
merited by men who fire a pistol above their heads after having left on
their table the night before the most thrilling adieux to the world, I
must confess that I have not gone; you have a perfect right to drive me
out of Europe; I promised to go to America, and you can compel me to
fulfil my promise; be clement, do not overpower me with ridicule; do not
riddle me with the fire of your mocking artillery; my sorrow, even
though I remain in the old world, is none the less crushing.

I must tell you how it all happened.

As all my life I have never been able to comprehend the division of
time, and it's a toss-up whether I distinguish day from night, I turned
my back on the best hotel in Havre, and stopped at one nearest the
wharf, from whence I could see the smoke-stacks of the Ontario, about to
sail for New York. I was leaning on the balcony, in the melancholy
attitude of Raphael's portrait, gazing at the swell of the ocean, with
that feeling of infinite sadness which the strongest heart must yield to
in the presence of that immensity formed of drops of bitter water, like
human tears. I followed, listlessly, with my eyes the movements of a
strange group which had just landed from the Portsmouth packet. They
were richly-dressed Orientals, followed by negro servants and women
enveloped in long veils.

One of these Turks looked up as he passed under my window, saw me, and
exclaimed in very correct