French books,
one may swear, but you can't get a new publication, except by
accident, at this excellent celebrated library of Vieusseux, and I
am reduced to read some of my favorites over again, I and Robert
together. You ought to hear how we go to single combat, ever and anon,
with shield and lance. The greatest quarrel we have had since our
marriage, by the way (always excepting my crying conjugal wrong of not
eating enough!), was brought up by Masson's pamphlet on the Iron Mask
and Fouquet. I wouldn't be persuaded that Fouquet was 'in it,' and
so 'the anger of my lord waxed hot.' To this day he says sometimes:
'Don't be cross, Ba! _Fouquet wasn't the Iron Mask after all_.'

God bless you, dearest Miss Mitford.
Your ever affectionate
E.B.B.

We are here till April.

[Footnote 169: Chloroform, then beginning to come into use.]

_To Mrs. Jameson_
Florence: December 1847.

Indeed, my dear friend, you have a right to complain of _me_, whether
or not _we_ had any in thinking ourselves deeply injured creatures
by your last silence. Yet when in your letter which came at last, you
said, 'Write directly,' I _meant_ to write directly; I did not take
out my vengeance in a foregone malice, be very sure. Just at the time
we were in a hard knot of uncertainties about Rome and Venice and
Florence, and a cold house and a warm house; for instance we managed
(that is _I_ did, for altogether it was my fault) to take two
apartments in the course of ten days, each for a term of six months,
getting out of one of them by leaving the skirts of our garments,
_rent_, literally, in the hand of the proprietor. You have heard most
of this, I dare say, from Mr. Kenyon or my sisters. Now, too, you are
aware of our being in Piazza Pitti, in a charmed circle of sun blaze.
Our rooms are small, but of course as cheerful as being under the very
eyelids of the sun must make everything; and we have a cook in the
house who takes the office of _traiteur_ on him and gives us English
mutton chops at Florentine prices, both of us quite well and in
spirits, and (though you never will believe this) happier than ever.
For my own part, you know I need not say a word if it were not true,
and I must say to you, who saw the beginning with us, that this end of
fifteen months is just fifteen times better and brighter; the mystical
'moon' growing larger and larger till scarcely room is left for any
stars at all: the only differences which have touched me being