I am reading Bossuet with René. What loftiness of views! What vehemence of thought! Another consolation for Karl: “Death gives us much more than he takes away: he takes away this passing world, these vanities which have deceived us, these pleasures which have led us astray; but we receive in return the wings of the dove, that we may fly away and find our rest in God.” Hélène had copied these lines into her journal, and remarked upon them as follows: “Beautiful thought! which enchants my soul, and makes me more than ever desire that hour for which, according to Madame Swetchine, we ought to live; that day when my true life will begin, far from the earth, where nothing can satisfy the intensity of my desires.” We are going to travel about a little, and visit the funeral cemetery of Quiberon and various other points of our Brittany, so rich in memories. I am packing up my things with the pleasure of a child, assisted by the gentle Picciola and pretty little Alix, whom I have surnamed Lady-bird.[26] One of my Bengalese is ill, and all the young ones are interested about it, wanting to kiss and caress it, and give it dainty morsels, but nothing revives the poor little thing. Ah! dear Kate, this Indian bird dying in Brittany makes me think of Ellen, a thousand times more lovable and precious, and who is also bending her fair head to die. Sister, friend, mother, all that is best, most tender, and beloved, God grant to us to die the same day, that together we may see again the kind and excellent mother who confided me to your love. DECEMBER 2. Here we are, home again, in the most _Advent-like_ weather that ever was. We have seen beautiful things; we have lived in the ideal, in the true and beautiful, in minds, in scenery, in poetry, and music――in a feast of the understanding, the eyes, and the heart. But with what pleasure we have again beheld our _home_, so calm, so pious, and so grand! It is only two hours since I took possession of my rooms. We found here piles of letters; René is reading them to me while I am saying good-morning to you――Kate, dearest, _you_ first of all; this beautiful long letter which I reverently kiss, which I touch with delight; it has been with you; it has _seen you_! How I want to see you again! A letter from Ireland from Lizzy, who is anxious about Ellen. Alas! her anxiety is only too well founded. Karl writes to me that Ellen grows weaker every day; strength is gradually leaving the body, while the soul is fuller of life and energy than ever before, and preparing for her last journey with astonishing serenity, and also preparing for it him who is the witness of her departure. In a firm hand she has added a few lines to the confidences of Karl: “Dear Georgina, will you not come and see me at Hyères? Your presence would help me to quit this poor earth, here so fair, which I would always inhabit on account of my good Karl. The will of our Father be done! Tender messages to Kate and to your good husband. Pray for me.”