formed Madame de Maisonrouge (the mistress of the
establishment--the head of the "family") that he wished my French
pronunciation especially attended to. The pronunciation, as it happens,
is just what I am most at home in; if he had said my genders or my idioms
there would have been some sense. But poor father has no tact, and this
defect is especially marked since he has been in Europe. He will be
absent, however, for three months, and mother and I shall breathe more
freely; the situation will be less intense. I must confess that we
breathe more freely than I expected, in this place, where we have been
for about a week. I was sure, before we came, that it would prove to be
an establishment of the _lowest description_; but I must say that, in
this respect, I am agreeably disappointed. The French are so clever that
they know even how to manage a place of this kind. Of course it is very
disagreeable to live with strangers, but as, after all, if I were not
staying with Madame de Maisonrouge I should not be living in the Faubourg
St. Germain, I don't know that from the point of view of exclusiveness it
is any great loss to be here.

Our rooms are very prettily arranged, and the table is remarkably good.
Mamma thinks the whole thing--the place and the people, the manners and
customs--very amusing; but mamma is very easily amused. As for me, you
know, all that I ask is to be let alone, and not to have people's society
forced upon me. I have never wanted for society of my own choosing, and,
so long as I retain possession of my faculties, I don't suppose I ever
shall. As I said, however, the place is very well managed, and I succeed
in doing as I please, which, you know, is my most cherished pursuit.
Madame de Maisonrouge has a great deal of tact--much more than poor
father. She is what they call here a belle femme, which means that she
is a tall, ugly woman, with style. She dresses very well, and has a
great deal of talk; but, though she is a very good imitation of a lady, I
never see her behind the dinner-table, in the evening, smiling and
bowing, as the people come in, and looking all the while at the dishes
and the servants, without thinking of a _dame de comptoir_ blooming in a
corner of a shop or a restaurant. I am sure that, in spite of her fine
name, she was once a _dame de comptoir_. I am also sure that, in spite
of her smiles and the pretty things she says to every one, she hates us
all, and would like to