Hippolyte thinks we are awfully greedy; he was heard yesterday
grumbling to the Baronne's maid, "Mais où diable est-ce que ces dames
mettent tout ce qu'elles mangent? Elles goblottent toute la journée!"

After dinner we drank our coffee on the terrace and listened to the
band. Héloise would hardly speak to "Antoine" all day, and he looked
perfectly miserable, and Madame de Vermandoise every now and then
laughed to herself--I don't know what at. However we took a walk on the
pier presently, and as there was such a crowd we weren't able to walk
all together as usual, but had to go two and two. "Antoine" walked with
Héloise, and I suppose they made it up. I just caught this: "N'oubliez
jamais, bien chère Madame, qu'une église a deux portes." Héloise said
she would not forget, and he thanked her rapturously; but what it meant
I don't know. They have both smiled often since so I expect it is some
French idiom for reconciliation.

The crowd on the pier was common, and we returned to Frascati's garden.
It was so fearfully hot, that beyond wondering if the dew was falling,
no one suggested we should get cold, as they always do. It really has
been a delightful trip, and I have enjoyed it so. They are all
charming. They seem to have kinder hearts than some of the people at
Nazeby, but what strikes one as quite different is that every one is
witty; they are making epigrams or clever _tournures de phrases_ all
the time, and don't seem to talk of the teeny weeny things we do in
England. They have most exquisite manners, and extraordinarily
unpleasant personal habits, like eating, and coughing, and picking
their teeth, etc.; but they do have nice under-clothes, and lovely
soaps and scents and things.