I have had at Cannes--I might say I am still having--a visit from M. Fould, for I shall find him still there on my return day after to-morrow. He told me many curious things of the men and women who were interested in his affair. I found him much more philosophical than I expected. I doubt, however, if he has the courage to sulk much longer; it is contrary to his habit. It seems that when one has for a long time carried a red portfolio under his arm, one finds himself, on losing it, in exactly the same condition as an Englishman with no umbrella. Good-bye. I shall leave Cannes, probably, February 8th. Let me hear from you, and tell me something of your plans for returning, if you have made any. We are having fine weather, but it might be warmer. You seem to have weather both clear and warm, for which I congratulate you. Good-bye, dear friend.... CCXXXIII CANNES, _February 16, 1861_. DEAR FRIEND: I am writing you in the blues, and in the midst of my preparations for departure. I am to start to-morrow morning, and, if I succeed in reaching Toulon in time for the train, expect to be in Paris the following night. I had hoped to prolong my stay here until the conclusion of the inquiry; but, on the one hand, I have had conferred on me an honour which I could very well have done without, and which compels me to be punctual. Besides this, I am told that the Senate is papist and legitimist, and that my voice will not be out of place when the vote is taken. This sort of thing is repugnant to me, and if it can be done, I shall keep out of it as long as possible. These last days I have had quantities of visitors, which has prevented me from writing to you. I have had friends from Paris, and Mr. Ellice, who came to spend several days with me, so that it became necessary to play the cicerone, to take them everywhere in the suburbs, and to hold a plenary court. Contrary to my custom, therefore, I am bringing back with me very few drawings. Your absence from Paris has been the cause of two misfortunes. The first is, that I forgot entirely the gift of books for Madame de Lagréné’s daughters. In the next place, I forgot also Sainte-Eulalie. There is nothing in this country which could have been sent to Paris, except flowers, and God only knows in what condition they would have reached there. Do advise me what to do. I am as embarrassed as usual, and this time I have not the resource of throwing my trouble on your shoulders. I am grateful to you for all the trouble you are taking about the _gebira_. I should like it a little large, because I expect to wear it in my journeys as a night-robe.