_She_ is gone! These two days have passed away like a dream. I cannot bring myself to realize this idea. Oh! what difference there is between the apprehension and the reality, from the expectation of sorrow to sorrow itself! But _she_ will be happy! How beautiful she was; Anna so graceful, and all three so affectionate! I am now counting the hours until I receive a letter. I am going to occupy myself—study with René, pray with Picciola, meditate with Gertrude. And Margaret—oh! I must make up to her all the time given to Marcella, whom she regrets almost as much as I do. Picciola occupies me, and very much. She has felt this separation exceedingly, being very fond of Anna. Good-by till to-morrow, dear Kate; I feel myself incapable of writing. 22d.—A word from Mme. de Verlhiac—a greeting written yesterday morning in the carriage. They go farther and farther away. How could I flatter myself that I should be able to keep for myself alone these two Italian flowers? Gertrude has asked me to aid her in a singular operation: the accounts of all her farmers have to be clearly arranged. Adrien does not like these commonplace details. He found yesterday in the woods a little fellow of six years old, roguish as an elf, his hair a tangled bush, his face, hands, and feet alarmingly dirty. “Will you take charge of this child for an hour?” René asked me, as he had letters to write to his brother. What trouble I had to make the little savage clean! Margaret acted as currier; I was quite alone, dreaming of the past. This awoke me, I can assure you. When he was _white_, I went to find Johanna, who gave me a whole suit of clothes. This little wilding was the torment of his mother; we are going to tame him. As a beginning I have put him to school. He is enchanted to see himself so _fine_, and looks at himself as if he were a relic. At the same time he is greedy, untruthful, obstinate, lazy—all vices in miniature. We are going to-morrow to the town; this always amuses the _babies_. Happy age, when every little change is a festivity! If you knew what a strange sensation I experienced this morning on entering the drawing-room and not finding the two dear faces so long visible there! I thought I should have wept or cried out—it would have done me good—but Gertrude began to converse with me, and the feeling passed away. I never talk to you now either about my godson or the beautiful Emmanuel; it is very remiss. Both are charming and do not make much noise. Dear little beings! And the day will come when they will be our protectors, these two little nestlings whose warblings are so charming a harmony to our ears. I wish you could hear Margaret say, “My son!” This word has in her mouth such a penetrating sweetness! Dear Kate, may God be with us! SEPTEMBER 28, 1869.