, and, regardless of several prim English ladies, I drew down his tall
head and kissed him tenderly, feeling that in this world there were no
more meetings for us. Then I ran away and buried myself in an empty
railway carriage, hugging the little cologne bottle he had given me.

He promised to write, and for five years he has kept his word, sending
me from Paris and Poland cheery, bright letters in English, at my
desire, so that he might not forget. Here is one as a specimen.

'MY DEAR AND GOOD FRIEND,--What do you think of me that I do not
write so long time? Excuse me, my good mamma, for I was so busy in
these days I could not do this pleasant thing. I write English
without the fear that you laugh at it, because I know it is more
agreeable to read the own language, and I think you are not
excepted of this rule. It is good of me, for the expressions of
love and regard, made with faults, take the funny appearance; they
are _ridicule_, and instead to go to the heart, they make the
laugh. Never mind, I do it.

'You cannot imagine yourself how _stupide_ is Paris when you are
gone. I fly to my work, and make no more fetes,--it is too sad
alone. I tie myself to my table and my Vanity (not of mine, for I
am not vain, am I?). I wish some chapters to finish themselfs
_vite_, that I send them to Pologne and know the end. I have a
little question to ask you (of Vanity as always). I cannot
translate this, no one of _dictionnaires_ makes me the words, and I
think it is _jargon de prison_, this little period. Behold:--

Mopy, is that your snum?
Nubble your dad and gully the dog, &c.

'So funny things I cannot explain myself, so I send to you, and
you reply sooner than without it, for you have so kind interest in
my work you do not stay to wait. So this is a little hook for you
to make you write some words to your son who likes it so much and
is fond of you.

'My doctor tells me my lungs are soon to be re-established; so you
may imagine yourself how glad I am, and of more courage in my
future. You may one day see your Varjo in Amerique, if I study
commerce as I wish. So then the last time of seeing ourselves is
_not_ the last. Is that to please you? I suppose the grand
_histoire_ is finished, _n'est ce pas_? You will then send it to me
care of M. Gryhomski Austriche, and