I must have a stenographer of course, a short-hand typist, if I do begin this thing. There are some English ones here no doubt. I do not wish to write in French--Maurice must find me a suitable one.--I won't have anything young and attractive. In my idiotic state she might get the better of me! The idea of some steady employment quite bucks me up. * * * * * I felt rather jarred when I arrived at the Hotel Courville--the paving across the river is bad; but I found my way to the Duchesse's own sitting room on the first floor--the only room apparently left not a ward--and somehow the smell of carbolic had not penetrated here. It was too hot, and only a little window was open. How wonderfully beautiful these eighteenth century rooms are! What grace and charm in the panelling--what dignity in the proportions! This one, like all rooms of women of the Duchesse's age, is too full--crammed almost, with gems of art, and then among them, here and there, a shocking black satin stuffed and buttoned armchair, with a bit of woolwork down its centre, and some fringe! And her writing table!--the famous one given by Louis XV to the ancestress, who refused his favours--A mass of letters and papers, and reports, a bottle of creosote and a feather! A servant in black, verging upon ninety, brought in the tea, and said Madame la Duchesse would be there immediately--and she came. Her twinkling eyes kindly as ever "Good day Nicholas," she said and kissed me on both cheeks, "Thou art thy mother's child--_Va!_--And I thank thee for the fifty thousand francs for my _blessés_--I say no more--_Va!_--." Her scissors got caught in her pocket, not the purple jersey this time, and she played with them for a minute. "Thou art come for something--out with it!" "Shall I write a book?, that's it. Maurice thinks it might divert me--What do you think?" "One must consider," and she began pouring out the tea, "paper is scarce--I doubt, my son, if what you would inscribe upon it would justify the waste--but still--as a _soulagement_--an asperine so to speak--perhaps--yes. On what subject?" "That is what I want your advice about, a novel?--or a study upon Altruism, or--or--something like that?" She chuckled and handed me my tea, thin tea and a tiny slice of black bread, and a scrape of butter. There is no cheating of the regulations here, but the Sevres cup gave me satisfaction. "You have brought me your bread coupon, I hope?" she interrupted with,--"if you eat without it one of my household has less!" I produced it. "Two days old will do here," then she became all interest in my project again and chuckled anew. "Not a novel my son, at your age and with your temperament, it would arouse emotions in you if you created them in your characters, you are better without them.--No!--Something serious; Altruism as well as another, by all means!"