Regnard
Cheverny.

"Monsieur Regnard was with us yesterday, at our fete champetre." And
"Monsieur Cheverny is reading a Spanish story to us, which I
understand quite well, although I have scarce spoken ten words of that
language since I was a child." And once--oh, blessed letter!--she
said, "My aunt and I desire our regards to Captain Babache. Tell him,
as I know he is a poet in his heart, if not with his pen, that there
is a beautiful poem being made now by a lady in Brabant. The lady is
Mother Nature--period, this present springtime. It is a play in
several acts. I watch it daily from the Italian garden. It is a
comedy, with some tragic aspects--for Nature has her tragic moods. The
comedy is in the birds and the laughing river, and the leaves and
blossoms. These last are defying their cruel old father, Winter, as
they come out in spite of him, at first shyly, and then boldly, to be
kissed by their lover, the sun. The lake remains always tragic; it
never laughs nor even smiles, but is always sadly beautiful, like
Niobe, poor, childless one. This is all for Captain Babache. And so
Mademoiselle Lecouvreur is no more--and how are we all impoverished by
her loss!" And much more of the same sort.

In June we started for Radewitz, near the Elbe. Thirty thousand
soldiers were assembled there, many royalties, including the King of
Prussia and the Crown Prince Frederick, afterward known as the Great,
and every pretty woman in Europe. It was a huge, royal fete champetre,
in which the river Elbe seemed to run with champagne. I had expected
it to be a practice camp, and so made preparations with pleasure for
Count Saxe to go.

Gaston Cheverny was overjoyed to go, for several reasons; one was,
that our road would lie directly toward Brussels, and he would have a
chance to stop at his own house, and so, to see the lady of his love.
As soon as it was known that we were going, we received kind
invitations from Madame Riano and Mademoiselle Capello to become
guests at the chateau. It was not possible for Count Saxe to accept,
however, and Gaston got only a week's leave, departing from Paris in
advance of us and joining us at Brussels. My master seeing I was
disappointed in not stopping at the chateau on our way, promised that
I might stop on our return in July; and with this I was satisfied.

Gaston Cheverny left Paris the middle of May--he was in the highest
spirits, as well he might be. The morning he set forth, I rode with
hi