a yellow
face, which is destined never to know what it is to smile.

"But you, Caroline dear, you who, between ourselves, were admitted among
the big girls while I still gamboled among the little ones, you whose
only sin was pride, you,--at the age of twenty-seven, and with a dowry
of two hundred thousand francs,--capture and captivate a truly great
man, one of the wittiest men in Paris, one of the two talented men that
our village has produced.--What luck!

"You now circulate in the most brilliant society of Paris. Thanks to the
sublime privileges of genius. You may appear in all the salons of the
Faubourg St. Germain, and be cordially received. You have the exquisite
enjoyment of the company of the two or three celebrated women of our
age, where so many good things are said, where the happy speeches which
arrive out here like Congreve rockets, are first fired off. You go to
the Baron Schinner's of whom Adolphe so often spoke to us, whom all the
great artists and foreigners of celebrity visit. In short, before long,
you will be one of the queens of Paris, if you wish. You can receive,
too, and have at your house the lions of literature, fashion and
finance, whether male or female, for Adolphe spoke in such terms about
his illustrious friendships and his intimacy with the favorites of the
hour, that I imagine you giving and receiving honors.

"With your ten thousand francs a year, and the legacy from your Aunt
Carabas, added to the twenty thousand francs that your husband earns,
you must keep a carriage; and since you go to all the theatres without
paying, since journalists are the heroes of all the inaugurations so
ruinous for those who keep up with the movement of Paris, and since they
are constantly invited to dinner, you live as if you had an income of
sixty thousand francs a year! Happy Caroline! I don't wonder you forget
me!

"I can understand how it is that you have not a moment to yourself. Your
bliss is the cause of your silence, so I pardon you. Still, if, fatigued
with so many pleasures, you one day, upon the summit of your grandeur,
think of your poor Claire, write to me, tell me what a marriage with a
great man is, describe those great Parisian ladies, especially those
who write. Oh! I should _so_ much like to know what they are made of!
Finally don't forget anything, unless you forget that you are loved, as
ever, by your poor

"CLAIRE JUGAULT."

From Madame Adolphe de Chodoreille to Madame la Pres