rtunately, even in France, you have to stay
on with people longer than that, and that is the part I could not have
managed.

I made him understand at last that I really meant not to have him, and
he was very miserable. But you can't tear your hair or cry, with every
one looking on, and, as it all had to be done in a voice as if one was
talking about the weather, he did not show much. Only he looked very
white when we came into the lights again, but he whispered as he said
good-night that he did not despair; he would always love me, and when I
married some one else his day would come, which I did not think kind of
him, as I don't want to be a widow.

The Marquis had not a chance to say a word to me; he tried often, but I
avoided him, he looked so out of temper. I am sure it would have been
something disagreeable. He and the Vicomte nearly came to blows going
out of the door, just over a silly thing like the Vicomte's sword
knocking against the Marquis's boot. I hope they won't really fight.
When they had all gone, and we were going up to bed, I thought Jean
looked as if his fit was coming on again, so I bolted into my room;
and on the whole I am rather glad to be coming back to England on
Thursday.

To-day we go over to Tournelle, a visit of ceremony for me to say
good-bye, and they are all dear people there, and I shall always hope
to see them again.--Now good-bye, dear Mamma, with love from your
affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

_P.S._--I wish his hair wasn't cut _en brosse_. But of course one
couldn't marry a Frenchman anyway.

Chateau de Croixmare,

_Wednesday, September 7th._

[Sidenote: _Hippolyte's Testimonial_]

Dearest Mamma,--It was really quite sad saying good-bye to all the
people at Tournelle. The Baronne almost wept over me, and said that
they would be dreadfully dull without me. They all kissed me on both
cheeks, and even Hippolyte as he put us into the carriage after I
tipped him, remarked, "Mieux vaut epouser un francais et rester
toujours chez nous, vous etes trop belle demoiselle pour le brouillard
d'Angleterre!"

I wonder after all if the Marquis will ever marry Victorine, as it
seems, when he got back last night, he was in such a temper that he
made a scene with the Baronne and his mother. He said that Victorine
made him look ridiculous, that she was unappetising, without wit, and
ugly enough to have tranquillised St. Anthony at his worst moment of
temptation--whatever that means. (I