“Since you left me, I have not been wasting my time, nor have you, I imagine, been inactive. Let me know how your Lichtenbach affair is progressing. Here everything is going along smoothly. Our young Marcel came to-day, overflowing with enthusiasm, and surprised me singing the most plaintive songs imaginable. Milona, who was on the look-out for him, had signalled to me his approach, and I played the _rôle_ of despair with extraordinary success. He seemed frantic with grief at seeing my tears flow. You know that I can weep at will, and that in the most seductive fashion. I led him away into the garden, and there, made him talk about himself. He is a regular child, of most disconcerting simplicity, and so frank and open that you would smile. To tell the truth, there will be no merit in triumphing over such innocence. This lamb will hold out his neck to the sacrificial knife. And we shall have our formula willingly handed over, or I am greatly mistaken. Besides, I am enjoying a delightful rest in this abandoned spot, and never suffer from _ennui_, even for a single moment. In the midst of such an adventurous life, it is long since I had time for reflection, and now I am astonished at the result. The joys and pleasures for which I have sacrificed everything hitherto, form, I am afraid, only one of the phases of life. There is another I did not suspect, far more seductive and beautiful. This afternoon, as I was listening to young Marcel speaking to me of his father, his mother, and sister, with such tender and delicate affection, a feeling of sadness came over me. These are all good, honest people. They are happy in a mutual love, and would be ready to undergo the greatest sacrifices for one another. And, although nothing could be simpler, more upright and monotonous than their existence, it cannot be disputed that they find happiness in it. “It is this lamb of a Marcel, who is the scapegrace of the family. From time to time his father threatens him with his malediction, and the poor fellow is very repentant for a whole week. He comes and buries himself at Ars, like an anchorite in the desert. During his penance he works in the laboratory, eats the most ill-cooked food imaginable, and has quarrels with the manager of the works, who seems to be a disagreeable fellow to deal with. It is during these periods of repentance that the interesting discoveries on the dyeing of wools and other industrial stuffs—which, it appears, have a certain value, as he explains to me in rather too much detail for my liking—have been due.