You asked me, the other day, where I formed my acquaintance with the dialects of the Bohemians. I had so many things to say to you that I forgot to answer. I obtained it from M. Borrow; his book is one of the most curious that I have ever read. What he retails of the Bohemians is perfectly true, and his personal observations agree entirely with mine, except on one point. In his quality as a clergyman he might well have been mistaken, where, in my quality as a Frenchman and a layman I could make conclusive experiments. What is most singular is that this man, who has a gift for languages to the degree that he speaks the Cali dialects, has so little perspicacity that he is unable to see at the outset that in this dialect have remained many words foreign to the Spanish. He pretends that the roots only of Sanskrit words have been retained.... I like the odour of that perfume, but I like it less since I have known that the friend who gave it to you sees you so often. CCXC PALACE OF SAINT-CLOUD, _August 20, 1866_. DEAR FRIEND: I received your letter last night. I thank you for your congratulations.[35] The thing astonished me as much as you. I say to myself, like the _Cocu_ imaginaire: Does one’s leg become more crooked, after all, or one’s shape less beautiful? I beg your pardon for quoting lines from a play which you have not read because of its title. You take a singular route to go to your friends in the land of the sea-monsters, but if you can have a little sunshine you will experience much pleasure in seeing the banks of the Loire. There is nothing in all France more typically French, and what is seen there, besides, can be found nowhere else. I recommend to you especially the Château of Blois, which has been well restored in the last few years. See, for my sake, the new church of Tours, restored. It is on the Rue Royale, on the right side coming from the station; I have forgotten the name of it. See also, in Tours, a house which is called, improperly, the House of the Executioner, and which is attributed to Tristan the Hermit, because of a sculptured girdle, the emblem of a widow, and which the ignorant take for a hangman’s rope. It is on the street of the Three Virgins, another distressing name. We are having deplorable weather. Yesterday I took a long drive, and we were surprised by a terrific storm, which soaked me to the bones and gave me new cold. The water accumulated on the cushions, so that it was like being in a bath-tub. I think I shall be in Paris the last few days of this month, and set out again for Biarritz the beginning of September. Will you not come there when you leave the banks of the Loire?... The emperor has entirely recovered and has resumed his usual occupations. We spend the days comfortably enough, considering the horrible weather, and without any formality. We dine in frock-coats, and every one does pretty much as he pleases.