"Nothing can ever take from me the fitful splendor, the wild rhythm, the divine mystery of this happy night. I can always close my eyes and see again sea and sky and dear faces; hear again the waves break on this wild coast of Normandy, with the passion of their immortal pain and longing." This stay in Étretat was further commemorated in her poem of that title. Dr. Marston, too, felt the spell of the place and company, and addressed to her this sonnet: THE EMBALMING OF A DAY. TUESDAY: SEPTEMBER 11: 1877. TO LOUISE. A Day hath Lived! So let him fall asleep. A Day is Dead--Days are not born again. Only his Spirit shall for Us remain Who found Him dear: His Hours in Balm to steep Of all sweet Thoughts that may in Freshness keep The beauty of a Day forever slain-- Of Wishes, for the bitter Herbs of Pain: Of Looks that meet and smile, though Hearts may weep. So shall our Night to come not wholly prove An Egypt's Feast, where bids the Silent Guest "In Joy remember Death."--"Remember Love In Death," thy dead Day breathes from Breast to Breast. Embalm Him thus, Heart's Love, that he may lie Untombed and unforgotten, though he die. The succeeding winter Mrs. Moulton passed in Paris. Here as in London she met many of the most interesting people of the day. With Stéphane Mallarmé especially she formed a close friendship, and through him she came to know the chief men of the group called at that time the "_Décadents_" of which he was the leader. Mallarmé was at this time professor of English in a French college, and his use of that language afforded Mrs. Moulton some amusement. "He always addressed me in the third person," she related, "and he made three syllables of 'themselves.' He spoke of useless things as 'unuseful.' He was, however, a great comfort and pleasure to me, and I saw a great deal of him and of his wife that winter. I used to dine with them at their famous Tuesdays, and meet the adoring throng that came in after dinner. Often he and Madame Mallarmé would saunter with me about the streets of Paris. It was then that I first made acquaintance with the French dolls,--those wonderful creations which can bow and courtesy and speak, and are so much better than humans that they always do the thing they should. Whenever we came to a window where one of these lovely creatures awaited us, I used to insist upon stopping to make her dollship's acquaintance, until I fear the Mallarmés really believed that these dolls were the most alluring things in life to me. But the winter,--crowded for me with the deepest interests and delights in meeting the noted men of letters and many of the greatest artists, and of studying that new movement in art, Impressionism, which was destined to be so revolutionary in its influence,--at last this wonderful winter came to an end, and I was about to cross the Channel once more.