I am horribly desolate here, even more so than when travelling, and yet I am too busy to have time to notice the absence of people from Paris; but that makes no difference to me. It is you, it is our walks for which I long. If you liked them half as much as you say, you would not keep me waiting for them so long. I thought of them during all the time of my journey, and now I think of them more than ever. But you, you have forgotten them. Paris is absolutely minus intelligent inhabitants. Hosiers and representatives are the only people left in the city, which amounts to the same thing. I expect to leave early in September for Cologne. Shall I see you again before then? I fear very much that you will reply that it is not worth coming for so little. Thus half of our year will have passed and you away or ill. I am tempted to go to ---- to see you, and I should yield probably if you gave me any encouragement. However, we shall see. Good-bye. I am in too bad a humour to write more. I end as I began, by repeating that nothing would give me more pleasure than to see you, especially if the pleasure were shared by you. Otherwise, stay where you are as long as you will. CXV PARIS, _September 3, 1846_. I had imagined, in my guilelessness, that you would prefer one or two walks with me to a week more of whitebait, but since you are not of the same opinion, let it be as you will! I am lacking even the courage to refrain from writing to you, as I pledged myself to do, and it is what I should do if I were not so silly. My journey to Cologne has been for two days a little unsettled. One of my travelling companions has decided not to go, and another perhaps can not, so I am running the risk of finding myself without a companion on the blue Rhine. That I shall consider a slight calamity, but I am uncertain if I shall come this way as I return. Thus we are in great danger, at least I am in great danger of not meeting you until November. The responsibility rests with you. I am sure it will weigh on you easily. I shall not start before the 12th of September. I hope you will let me hear from you before then, and also that you will send me word of any commissions you wish me to do for you. It is possible that I shall be in Paris again about the beginning of October; but if I have the least courage I shall go to Strasburg, to Lyons, and from there to Marseilles. I fear this courage will be lacking, especially if you think of returning. During your absence I have made from memory two full-length portraits of you. They are both like you, but need to be retouched. We shall see if you will like them. I am bored to death, and should like to see it rain in torrents, but the weather is perfectly dry. Nothing falls but the leaves. There will remain not the sign of one in October.