Therese, after some little grumbling, gave me my letters. But what did it matter?--I looked at all the envelopes, and saw that no one of them had been addressed by the little hand which I so much wish I could see here now, turning over the pages of the Vecellio. I pushed the whole bundle of letters away: they had no more interest for me. April-June It was a hotly contested engagement. “Wait, Monsieur, until I have put on my clean things,” exclaimed Therese, “and I will go out with you this time also; I will carry your folding-stool as I have been doing these last few days, and we will go and sit down somewhere in the sun.” Therese actually thinks me infirm. I have been sick, it is true, but there is an end to all things! Madame Malady has taken her departure quite awhile ago, and it is now more than three months since her pale and gracious-visaged handmaid, Dame Convalescence, politely bade me farewell. If I were to listen to my housekeeper, I should become a veritable Monsieur Argant, and I should wear a nightcap with ribbons for the rest of my life.... No more of this!--I propose to go out by myself! Therese will not hear of it. She takes my folding-stool, and wants to follow me. “Therese, to-morrow, if you like, we will take our seats on the sunny side of the wall of La Petite Provence and stay there just as long as you please. But to-day I have some very important affairs to attend to.” “So much the better! But your affairs are not the only affairs in this world.” I beg; I scold; I make my escape. It is quite a pleasant day. With the aid of a cab and the help of almighty God, I trust to be able to fulfil my purpose.