of the window. Again he speaks, leaning forward to be sure that I hear
him. 'Have him embalmed; that's the thing; have you got money enough?'
Can you fancy five hours of this? I got out in the rain several times
to try to get into another carriage, but they were all filled. But I
never heard of anybody being so nice as Mr. Hammond was. I think he
was more proud to be able to help Louis and those belonging to him
than to help the Queen."

[Footnote 22: Mr. Basil Hammond, of Trinity College,
Cambridge.]

Anxious to prevent her husband's return to St. Marcel while conditions
were so unfavourable, she wrote to him: "Don't you dare to come back
to this home of 'pizon' until you are really better. I do not see
how you are to come back at all under the circumstances, deserting
your family as you have done and being hunted down and caught by your
wife. Madame desires me to say that she knows what is keeping you in
Nice--it is another lady. I told her that instead of amusing yourself
with another lady you were weeping for me and home and your Wogg. She
was greatly touched at that and almost wept herself into her dishpan.
You are a dear creature and I love you, but I am not going to say that
I am lonesome lest you come flying back to this den of death." In the
meantime he wrote her letters in which he expressed his own loneliness
in humourous verses, illustrated with drawings, one of which runs like
this:

"When my wife is far from me
The undersigned feels all at sea."
R. L. S.

"I am as good as deaf
When separate from F.

I am far from gay
When separate from A.

I loathe the ways of men
When separate from N.

Life is a murky den
When separate from N.

My sorrow rages high
When separate from Y.

And all things seem uncanny
When separate from Fanny."

"Where is my wife? Where is my Wogg?
I am alone, and life's a bog."

All his wife's expostulations, however, were of no avail, and, much to
her annoyance, it was not long before he appeared at Campagne Defli,
where she was busy packing up their effects for another flitting. She
writes to her mother-in-law:

"I don't wonder you ask what Louis is doing in Marseilles. He became
filled with the idea that it was shirking to leave me here to do all
the work. He was a good deal hurt, poor boy, because I wasn't pleased.