“Geneva, 16th December 1864.
“Monsieur,—I ought to have thanked you sooner for your charming welcome of my son and his wife had I not been unwell, and consequently, very idle.
“But I cannot let my daughter-in-law go without my grateful thanks for all the pleasure you have given them.
“Suzanne will tell you all about our life here; I should be as happy as in Lyons, were it not for my separation from my other two sons and from my dear old friends.
“Once more, thank you for the libretto of The Trojans, and also for the sweet souvenir of the Meylan leaves—they bring back the bright, happy days of my youth.
“My son and I will read the part of your work that you have marked, and shall think of Suzanne listening to your music on Sunday.”
To which I replied:
“Paris, 19th December 1864.—Last September, when at Grenoble, I visited one of my cousins, who lives near St Georges, a wretched hamlet niched into the most barren mountains on the left bank of the Drac, inhabited only by a few miserable peasants.
“My cousin’s sister-in-law is the sweet providence of this forsaken corner, and on the day of my arrival she heard that one far-away family had had no bread for three weeks.
“She started off at once to see the mother.