Farewell, dearest. I have quantities of things to attend to. A thousand kisses.
September 10, 1869.
M. de Verlhiac overwhelms us with presents—no means of refusing them. Marcella appears very happy, although as the time of departure approaches there is an occasional shade upon her brow. The health of M. de V. cannot accommodate itself to Brittany, and the Blue Nest was only a pretext. My mother is purchasing this well-named habitation, to sell it when an opportunity offers. Since we have launched out so strongly in good works, no one allows superfluities.
Gertrude saw Karl, who sighs for the day when he shall offer up at the altar the true and spotless Victim. I love what you tell me of your thoughts on seeing our sister. Ah! dearest, all that God does he does well; great sacrifices suit great souls.
My mother gives fêtes—to us, you understand. But what fêtes! What a large share is left for the poor! What a still larger part given to God! Lucy, the amiable Lucy, gives herself unheard-of trouble for our pleasures. Gertrude gracefully lends herself to our passing follies, to which her dark toilet makes a contrast. I asked her two days ago if she did not sometimes regret the luxuries to which she was accustomed. “Regret, Georgina! Listen to Ludolph the Chartreux: 'The Christian is happy, for, whatever may be his poverty, he has always in himself wherewith to buy the pearl and the treasure; no other price is asked but himself.'”
Sarah is in Spain, whence she sends me magnificent descriptions of the Pyrenees. “When will you come and gather roses on the banks of the Mancanares?” asks my lively friend.
Picciola is asking for me. You would be uneasy. May God have you in his keeping!
September 18, 1869.
René has replaced me in my assiduous correspondence—I have so much to do! Will these words make you smile? Nothing, however, is more true; in our hive every bee has its share of work. M. de V. can no longer keep himself quiet; Marcella weeps at the thought of going away for ever. René mentions the possibility of our again visiting Hyères, and I want to persuade the future couple to give their solemn promise to go thither. It seems as if a part of my heart were going to leave me.
The Bishop of —— will bless the marriage. Oh! would that I could put off this date. It is so sweet to have them here, these dear friends and the charming little Anna! Good-by, Homer! Good-by, our studious hours, our intimate conversations, our so perfect friendship! Her room will remain furnished just as it now is; I shall make it a museum of souvenirs. You know that I have taken the portraits of all three. They wished for copies; so you see why I was too busy to write to you. Only two days more—two days: what is that?