Paris,
Tuesday, 8 a.m., November 2nd, 1880.
Beloved, Heaven decrees that in the absence of your dear departed souls, your sweet angels here below should be restored to you to-day. Let us bless Him with all reverence, and be solemnly happy with the memory of those who once made our felicity, and the kisses of your adorable grand-children, who constitute your present and future content. What joy it is to see them once more, lovelier than ever if possible, and in still better health. All night I listened to every sound, that I might be the first to welcome them on the threshold. I succeeded, and was repaid by their hugs. The sun shot forth its brightest beams in their honour. As for you, divine grandpapa, I trust your horrid cold will yield to the tender caresses that await you, and that we shall have you with us in our enjoyment. The least we can hope for is an indulgence in unlimited caresses, after these three months of separation. I make a start by flinging myself into your arms.
J.
Paris,
Tuesday, 9 a.m., December 14th, 1881.
I come to fetch my heart where I left it, that is to say in yours. I return it to you, praying you not to bruise it over much by unjust and wounding tyrannies. My independent, proud nature has always borne them ill, and is now in revolt. I beg you beloved, not to constitute yourself the critic of my little personal needs. Whatever I may ask, I assure you I shall never exceed the bounds of necessity, and never will I take unfair advantage of your trust and generosity. The position you have given me in your household precludes me from placing myself at a disadvantage in the eyes of your guests by an appearance not in consonance with your means. Therefore, please, dear great man, leave it to my discretion to do honour to you as well as to myself. Besides, the little time I have to spend on earth is not worth haggling about. So, my great little man, let us be good to each other for the rest of the time God grants us to live side by side, and heart to heart.
J.
Paris,
Sunday, Noon, July 10th, 1881.
My dear beloved, I must first of all confess the fault (if it be one) I committed yesterday under the influence of the universal enthusiasm occasioned by the glorious ovation offered to you, so that you may forgive it, even if you see fit to punish me. This is my crime. Whilst you, still in the full flood of your emotion, were thanking the enthusiastic crowd, the councillors of our district approached to congratulate you and at the same time to beg for money for their schools. Madame Lockroy sent them forty francs by Georges. Failing to attract your attention, though they stood behind you, intent upon presenting their money-boxes themselves, they turned to me. In my agitated surprise, I handed them the hundred-franc note I was saving up for my birthday. I gave the note in your name, at the same time reminding them they had already received five hundred from you the day before, through their mayor. He, happening to be present, confirmed my statement. This is my transgression; if you deem it deserving of severity you need not refund the money. If you take into account the delirium and excitement of the occasion you will smile and give me back my poor little mite of which I have great need. In any case you must not scold me too much, for I am very sensitive.
J.
Wednesday, 8 a.m., June 21st, 1882.