Seventy-two days of Communism has cost France 850,000,000 francs.
DINARD, June 18, 1871.
DEAR MOTHER,—Our peaceful life here is a great contrast to the bombs of poor dilapidated Paris. I have still the screams and bursting shells of the Faubourg St. Honoré in my ears.
When I wrote of Strakosch's persisting in his idea of my singing in concerts, I did not dream that I should be telling you that I have succumbed to his tempting and stupendous proposition. It is true that I have said yes, and vogue la galère!
And the most curious thing is that the whole family sitting in council have urged me to do it.
"Why not?" said Mr. Moulton, making mental calculations. "I would, if I were you," said Mrs. Moulton, overflowing with enthusiasm.
"I agree," said Charles, only seeing the fun of a new experience.
"But," I urged, "I doubt if I can stand on my own merits. Singing in public as an amateur is one thing, and singing as an artist is another." This wise saying was scorned by the council.
I have ordered some fine dresses from Worth, and if my public don't like me they can console themselves with the thought that a look at my clothes is worth a ticket.
Well, the fatal word has gone forth; I shall probably regret it, but it is too late now.