Geneva, January, 1834.
I have slept like a dormouse, I feel like a charm, I love you like a madcap, I hope that you are well, and I send you a thousand tendernesses.
Geneva, January, 1834.
If I must come this evening, and dress myself because you have your charaders, permit me to come a little earlier. There is a dinner here; they are singing and making such a noise while I write that it is enough to drive the devil away. Ecco. I can calculate. Wednesday I shall be encandollé [dinner with M. de Candolle]. Thursday is taken. To-morrow I work without intermission, for I shall have proofs. So, out of five days, when one has but one in prospect, it is no flattery to add a few hours. Yes? Very good.
Allow me to return your "Marquis" by a good "Maréchale."
Geneva, January, 1834.
Willingly, but you will bring me back to your house, will you not?—for I can't get accustomed to be two steps away from you, doing nothing, without better employing my time.
If you go into the town I will ask you to be so kind—No, I will go myself.
Geneva, January, 1834.