It’s a long time since I’ve given you of my news, and I don’t know what puts it into my head to-night to recall myself to your affectionate memory. I suppose it is that when we’re happy the mind reverts instinctively to those with whom formerly we shared our vicissitudes, and _je t’en ai trop dit dans le bon temps_, _cher vieux_, and you always listened to me too imperturbably, with your pipe in your mouth and your waistcoat unbuttoned, for me not to feel that I can count on your sympathy to-day. _Nous en sommes-nous flanqués_, _des confidences_?—in those happy days when my first thought in seeing an adventure _poindre à l’horizon_ was of the pleasure I should have in relating it to the great Prosper. As I tell thee, I’m happy; decidedly _j’ai de la chance_, and from that avowal I trust thee to construct the rest. Shall I help thee a little? Take three adorable girls—three, my good Prosper, the mystic number, neither more nor less. Take them and place in the midst of them thy insatiable little Léon. Is the situation sufficiently indicated, or does the scene take more doing? You expected perhaps I was going to tell thee I had made my fortune, or that the Uncle Blondeau had at last decided to recommit himself to the breast of nature after having constituted me his universal legatee. But I needn’t remind you for how much women have always been in any happiness of him who thus overflows to you—for how much in any happiness and for how much more in any misery. But don’t let me talk of misery now; time enough when it comes, when _ces demoiselles_ shall have joined the serried ranks of their amiable predecessors. Ah, I comprehend your impatience. I must tell you of whom _ces demoiselles_ consist.