“‘Don’t worry about it, madame, the frost did it.’ “I can write no more. I must go to bed.” _To_ H. FERRAND. “_11th June 1867._--Thanks for your letter, dear friend, it did me good. “Yes, I am in Paris, but so ill I can hardly write. Besides, I am worried about Louis, who is in Mexico, and I do not know what those Mexican ruffians may not be up to. “The Exhibition is turning Paris into an Inferno. I have not been there yet, for I can hardly walk. “Yesterday there was a great function at Court, but I was too weak to dress and go to it.... “I wrote so far at the Conservatoire, where I was one of the jury in awarding the Exhibition musical prize. We heard a hundred and four cantatas, and I had the very great pleasure of seeing the prize unanimously awarded to my young friend, Camille Saint-Saëns, one of the greatest musicians of our time. “I have been urgently pressed to go to New York where, say the Americans, I am popular. They played _Harold_ five times last year with success truly _Viennese_. “I am quite elated with our jury meeting. How happy Saint-Saëns will be! I hurried off to tell him, but he was out with his mother. “He is an astounding pianist. “Well! at last our musical world has done something sensible; it makes me feel quite strong, I could not have written you such a long letter were it not for my joy.” XXXVIII DARKNESS AND LIGHT _To_ H. FERRAND. “_30th June 1867._--A terrible grief has fallen upon me. My poor boy, at thirty-three captain of a fine vessel, has just died at Havana.” * * * * * “_15th July 1867._--Just a few words, since you ask for them; but it is wrong of me to sadden you too. “I am so much worse that I am really hardly alive and have barely sense enough to grasp poor Louis’ business affairs; fortunately one of his friends is helping me. Thanks for your letter; forgive my stupidity. I am fit for nothing but sleep. “Adieu, adieu!” _To_ MADAME DAMCKE at Montreux. “PARIS, _24th September 1867_.--Dear Madame Damcke,--I should have written sooner had I known your address, therefore double thanks for your letter. “My answer is short; I am as ill as usual. “After my fifth bath at Néris the doctor, hearing me speak, felt my pulse and cried: “‘Be off out of this as fast as you can; the waters are the worst possible for you, you are on the verge of laryngitis. Confound it all, it is really serious.’ “So off I went the same evening and was nearly choked by a fit of coughing in the train. “My nieces at Vienne nursed me devotedly but, when my throat got better, back came my neuralgia more fiendishly than ever.