Fortunately it is not as cold here as it is in New York, although this confounded thermometer means so little to me that I can't tell you just what it is. Some days it's zero, others it's 2, and in the house it's 5 or 7, and it feels just as cold as that would be on good old Fahrenheit. It's just as cozy to live in my room these days as it would be to live in a tent out on Place Denfert-Rochereau. I can see my breath if I care to look, but I'm tired of it as we approach the fifth week. I wear my fur coat most of the time and sometimes my hat, and settle down on a hassock in front of whatever fire there is, to read. I have tried wearing gloves, but the pages stick so that I lose in temper what I make up for in warmth. To play my piano is like playing on icicles. But I play just the same and then go into the kitchen to warm my hands. I have Louise put some of my wet logs on the back of the stove when she has been cooking and it has dried them out fairly successfully. You can imagine what getting up in the morning is like. If it weren't immodest I'd like to dress out on my balcony, for I think the temperature would be an improvement. The very walls of the room are cold, they haven't been heated for so long. And as for touching the bare floor or a door-handle! Really, had I the tongue of Greeks or Jews or possibly Siberians or Esquimaux I would describe our home atmosphere, which makes itself felt as it whistles under the doors and around the windows--but not unless. But I wouldn't think of moving even if I knew of any warm place to go. The people are just like a big family and I'll never desert Mme. H. ---- Micawber. It will be lovely in the spring. And after all I love my little fire "that goes in and out with me." And I feel so settled here. I never wake up in the morning any more and say like the bewildered little darky, "Whar me!" and when I open the front door at night I feel that I never really belonged anywhere else. What I look forward to all day is getting into bed at night. I slide in between the icy sheets and find the tin bed-warmer that Olive gave me, and then way down at the bottom a hot, squashy, hot-water bag. I tuck the comforter in tight, and pull my fur coat up over my head and stay there suffocated until I'm sure my nose is warm enough not to keep me awake, then I uncover cautiously and slowly go off to sleep. When once asleep nothing could wake me up--not the Allies victorious or the Heavenly trump. But before I go to sleep I have a fine chance to think over happy things of the past and I do love it. I think of what fun we used to have at Northampton, especially those two years at the Lodge. It seems too wonderful to be true now, to think of living not merely with people who were girls your own age and spoke English, but your very own best friends that you would pick out from all the world. All living together under one roof!