* * * * * _Monday:_ Sunday was a memorable day--. I went through the _Bois de Marne_ on that bad road because the trees were so lovely--and then through the _parc de St. Cloud_. Even in war time this wonderful people can enjoy the open air life!-- I think of Henriette d' Angleterre looking from the terrace of her Château over the tree tops--The poor Château! not a stone of which is standing to-day--Did she feel sentimental with her friend the Comte de Guiche--as I would like to feel now?--If I had someone to be sentimental with. Alas! There was an ominous hot stillness in the air, and the sky beyond the Eiffel tower had a heavy, lurid tone in it. When we got across the river into the _Bois de Boulogne_ it seemed as if all Paris was enjoying a holiday. I told the chauffeur to go down a side _allée_ and to go slowly, and presently I made him draw up at the side of the road. It was so hot, and I wanted to rest for a little, the motion was jarring my leg. I think I must have been half asleep, when my attention was caught by three figures coming up another by-path obliquely--the tallest of them was undoubtedly Miss Sharp--but Miss Sharp as I had never seen her before!-- And a boy of thirteen, and a girl of eleven were at either side of her, the boy clinging on to her arm, he was lame and seemed to be a dreadfully delicate, rickety person. The little girl was very small and sickly looking too--but Miss Sharp--my secretary!--appeared blooming and young and lovely in her inexpensive foulard frock--No glasses hid her blue eyes. Her hair was not torn back and screwed into a knot, but might have been dressed by Alice's maid--and her hat, the simplest thing possible, was most becoming, with the proper modish "look."-- Refinement and perfect taste proclaimed themselves from every inch of her, even if everything had only cost a small sum. So that dowdy get-up is for my benefit, and is not habitual to her!--Or is it, that she has only one costume and keeps it for Sundays and days of _fête_?-- In spite of my determination to put all thought of her from me--a wild emotion arose--a passionate longing to spring from the car and join her--to talk to her, and tell her how lovely I thought she was looking. They came nearer and nearer--I could see that her face was rippling with smiles at something the little brother had said--Its expression was gentle and sympathetic and it was obvious that fond affection held all three. The children might have been drawn by Du Maurier in Punch long ago, to express a family who were overbred. Race run to seed expressed itself in every line of them. The boy wore an Eton jacket and collar and a tall hat--and it looked quite strange in this place. As they got close to me I could hear him cough in the hollow way which tells its own story--.