to her daughter when she received, one beautiful May morning, the
following letter dated from Paris:

"BELOVED MOTHER:--'No more Switzerland!' too much Switzerland! Here I am;
don't disturb yourself. I know how much you are enjoying yourself at
Vastville. We'll go and join you there one of these fine mornings, and
we'll all come home together in the autumn. I only ask of you a few days
to look after our future establishment here.

"We are at the Grand Hotel. I did not choose to stop at your house, for
all sorts of reasons, nor at my grandmother's, who, however, insisted very
kindly upon our doing so:

"'Oh! mon Dieu! my dear children--that must not be--in a hotel! why, that
is not proper. You cannot remain in a hotel! come and stay with me. mon
Dieu! you'll be very uncomfortable. You'll be camping out, as it were. I
don't even know how I'll manage to give you anything to eat, for my cook
is sick abed, and that stupid coachman of mine, by the way, has a stye on
his eye! But why not let people know you were coming? You fall upon me
like two flower-pots from a window! It's incredible! You are in good
health, my friend? I need not ask you. It shows plainly enough. And you,
my beautiful pet? Why! it is the sun; the sun itself. Hide yourself--you
are dazzling my eyes! Have you any luggage? Well, we'll just put it in the
parlor; it can't be helped. And as to yourselves, I'll give you my own
room. I'll engage a housekeeper and hire a driver from some livery stable.
You'll not be in my way at all, not at all, not at all!'

"In short, we did not accept.

"But the explanation of this sudden return! Here it is:

"'Are you not tired of Switzerland, my dear?' I asked of my husband.

"'I am tired of Switzerland,' replied that faithful echo.

"'Suppose we go away, then?'

"And away we went.

"Glad and moved to the bottom of my soul at the thought of soon kissing
you,

JULIA.

"P.S.--I beg Monsieur de Lucan not to intimidate me."

The days that followed were delightfully busy for Clotilde. She herself
unpacked the parcels that constantly kept coming, and put the contents
away with her own maternal hands. She unfolded and folded again, she
caressed those skirts, those waists of fine and perfumed linen, which were
already to her like a part of her daughter's person. Lucan, a little
jealous, surprised her meditating lovingly over these pretty things. She
went to the stables to see Julia's horse, which had followed soon aft