Notwithstanding your wishes, Madame de M. will certainly come to Paris. She has to purchase the trousseau of her daughter, who is to be married in the spring. Unless an unforeseen revolution occurs, the said trousseau will be made in Paris, and the marriage, also, may take place here. I am not acquainted with the future husband, but by means of intrigue I had a hand in dismissing a former one whom I disliked, although an exceptional man in many respects. In the first place, he was not tall enough; besides, he has no less than five or six grandeeships accumulated on one small body. This action is in itself a proof of my amelioration. Formerly, it amused me to see others held up to ridicule, but now I should like to have almost everyone shielded from derision. I have also become more humane, and the last time I saw the bull-fights in Madrid I felt none of the pleasure with which I was inspired ten years ago by a similar exhibition. In fact, I have a dread of all kinds of suffering, and for some time I have believed in mental suffering. In a word, I endeavour as far as possible to forget the _ego_. This, in brief, is the list of my perfections. It is not through _vanagloria_ that I am ambitious to become an Academician. One of these days I shall present myself for admission, but I am sure to be black-balled. I hope I may have patience and persistence sufficient to accept the disappointment and to persevere in my endeavour. If the cholera breaks out again, I may perhaps succeed in attaining a seat. No, I have not the least bit of _vanagloria_. I take things too literally, perhaps, but I have been disillusioned of taking a poetical view of life. However, you may be sure that you will never know either all the good or all the ill in me. All my life I have been praised for virtues that I do not possess, and slandered for faults which are not mine. I imagine you at present as spending your evenings with your two brothers. Good-bye. XXX _December, Monday morning._ Now this is what I call talking. To-morrow at two o’clock, at the place which you appoint. I hope to see you to-morrow relieved of your headache, in spite of which you are kinder than usual. Good-bye. I shall be delighted to see the _Joconde_ with you. I am obliged to hasten to the four ends of Paris, and I have only time to thank you for your almost unhoped-for graciousness. XXXI _Wednesday._ Is it not true that the devil is not so black as he is painted? I am rejoiced to learn that you did not catch cold, and that you slept well. It is more than I can say. Be so good as to consider that the Museum will be closed January 20 for the exhibition of paintings, and that it would be a pity not to say farewell to it. Of course, you will find a thousand-and-one _buts_ to this suggestion. Take care that you do not regret, on January 21, that you did not recover the courage that you found yesterday. XXXII PARIS, _Sunday evening, December_.