telling my story, I must confess; but it will bring us to the point.
Well, then, as I am her only consolation, it follows that, after I
have been to see her, she will come to see me, when, of course, I
shall wish her to find my garden in good order--those fine walks of
which you are so fond. Still you are at a loss to conceive whither
they are leading you now. Attend, then, if you please, to a little
suggestion by the way. You are aware that haymaking is going forward?
Well, I have no haymakers; I send into the neighboring fields to press
them into my service; there are none to be found; and so all my own
people are summoned to make hay instead. But do you know what
haymaking is? I will tell you. Haymaking is the prettiest thing in the
world. You play at turning the grass over in a meadow; and as soon as
you know how to do that, you know how to make hay. The whole house
went merrily to the task, all but Picard: he said he would not go;
that he was not engaged for such work; that it was none of his
business; and that he would sooner betake himself to Paris. Faith!
didn't I get angry? It was the hundredth disservice the silly fellow
had done me. I saw he had neither heart nor zeal; in short, the
measure of his offence was full. I took him at his word; was deaf as a
rock to all entreaties in his behalf; and he has set off. It is fit
that people should be treated as they deserve. If you see him, don't
welcome him; don't protect him; and don't blame me. Only look upon him
as, of all servants in the world, the one least addicted to haymaking,
and therefore the most unworthy of good treatment. This is the sum
total of the affair. As for me, I am fond of straightforward
histories, that contain not a word too much; that never go wandering
about, and beginning again from remote points; and, accordingly, I
think I may say, without vanity, that I hereby present you with a
model of an agreeable narration."

We will now go with her to Paris, and listen to a little of her gossip
with her daughter.

"PARIS, _March 13th_.

"Behold me, to the delight of my heart, all alone in my chamber,
writing to you in tranquillity. Nothing gives me comfort like
being seated thus. I dined to-day at Madame de Lavardin's, after
having been to hear Bourdaloue, where I saw the mothers of the
church; for so I call the Princesses de Conti and Longueville. All
the world was at the sermon, and the sermon was worthy of all that
heard it.