Madame Carraud is safely confined of a son.
I saw Borget this morning, returned from Italy, and I have your letter; so this has been a good day.
Well, I must say adieu; but remember that while writing a book that bears your name, I do not quit you.
The Emperor of Russia has prohibited "Goriot;" probably on account of Vautrin.
There is pleasure in breaking all one's bonds to society; one has no remorse; society does not cling to you, and one can only pity those who cling to it. I am happy. I can march on in solitude, led by a beautiful and noble thought.
I am sorry you have not seen the satirical preface I put to "Goriot;" you shall have it later. I won't make a package of that only.
I have a hundred thousand things to say, but when I begin to talk with you I seem to see you; I forget my ideas. However, I intend to begin a journal-letter, and put in every day some of my ideas.
At this moment I am a little drunk with work; my hand is tired; the heart is full, but the head is empty; you will get neither mind nor gaiety, but all that affection has of truest, all that memory has of freshest, and the tenderest gratitude.
You ask me what becomes of Madame de Nucingen. She will be, and so will her husband, a most comic dramatic personage in "Une Vue du Monde" long advertised by the "Revue de Paris." It is called "La Faillite de M. de Nucingen." But I need time for all these conceptions, and especially for their execution; above all when (as for Séraphita) I work often a year or two in thought before taking a pen. Adoremus in æternum means for me, "Toil ever."