Good-bye. Do not have any second thoughts, and give me a place in your first. You know in which place I belong. Remind me to tell you a story of a somnambulist, which I intended telling you the other day. XLIII PARIS, _January 21, 1843_. You are very kind, and I thank you for your first letter, which has given me more pleasure than the second, for the latter has a flavour of second impulses. It is not bad, however. But you must write more legible German. I am sadly in need of the commentaries which you offer me--verbal ones, of course, for they are the best kind. At first I read _heilige Empfindung_, then afterwards I thought it should read _selige_. But there are two meanings. Does it mean a sensation of happiness, or sentiment that is dead, past? If I had seen you writing, I should have guessed, probably, from your expression what you intended to say. That was double coquetry on your part, coquetry in writing, coquetry of ambiguity. Alas! you overrate my knowledge in matters of dress. I have, however, very positive ideas on that subject. I will submit them to you, if you like; but I do not understand most of the beautiful things that should be admired, unless they are explained to me. If you will point them out to me, I shall understand immediately, I assure you. But when, and where? These two questions engage my attention quite as much as your why and wherefore. Do you not look back longingly to the beautiful warm days of the spring? No danger then of wetting those wonderful little boots! If you will tell me that you have remembered them, and that you still think of them, you will give me renewed patience; but you must do something more than think; you must resolve. I have no desire to recall your promises, for I hope you will add to your good faith by fulfilling them graciously, and not keep them waiting too long. I was so utterly overcome with dismay by that storm, and by its consequences, that I have become entirely sugared over with suavity and self-sacrifice. I have now sufficient confidence in you to believe that you will not take advantage of it to become tyrannical. You have, I regret to say, strong leanings in that direction. That was formerly a fault of mine--tyranny, I mean--but I flatter myself I have overcome it. Good-bye, then, dearest! Think of me sometimes. XLIV _January 27, 1843._