Here I am in this horrible little town, perched on the top of a mountain, bored to death by the townspeople, and hard at work on a speech that I am to make to-morrow. I am in politics, and you know me well enough to realise how odious I find the business of a political campaign. For consolation, I have a most congenial travelling companion, and an admirable church to look upon. The first time I saw this church was soon after having seen you at.... I asked myself to-day whether we were more foolish then than we are now. What is certain is that we had formed, probably, a very different impression of each other from the one we have to-day. If we had known then how often we should quarrel, do you suppose we would have cared to meet again? It is frightfully cold, with rain and lightning at intervals. I have a ream of official prose to spin off, and will leave you all the more cheerfully because the things I should write to you are not particularly affectionate. It is, however, the force of circumstances that irritates me most. I go to Dijon in a few days. It would please me if you would write to me there, especially if your pen could find something less cruel to write than it did last time. You can not form an idea of one of our evenings at the inn. One of the most charming plans of which I have thought is to go somewhere in Italy to spend the time that must intervene between my political tour and the trip to Algiers. You, I fancy, are thinking of some way to be in the country when I return to Paris. What will be the result of all these plans? As I was leaving Paris I met M. de Saulcy, who had just received a letter from Metz. Your brother was spoken of in the highest terms, which is very gratifying to those who recommended him. I should have written this earlier but for the thousand and one annoyances incident to my departure. Good-bye. I believe this little talk with you has made me feel better. If I had more paper, and not so many reports to prepare, I think I might be capable now of saying something affectionate. As you are aware, my attacks of temper usually end in that way. At Dijon, General Delivery, and do not forget my titles and degrees! LXXV AVALLON, _August 14, 1843_. I expected to be in Lyons the 10th, and am not within sixty leagues of that place. I shall not have any news from you until I reach Autun. If you want to be kind you will write to me again at Lyons.