thing. These last two days have been just alike, that is why I have not
written--the same tiresome ceremony about everything, and the same
ghastly evenings.

We went for a drive on Monday, and Godmamma did nothing but question me
as to what we had done every minute of the time while we were in Paris.
This is the first chance she has had with me alone. So I would not tell
her a scrap, even a simple thing like Héloise going to the Madeleine.
She thinks I am fearfully stupid, I can see. I forgot to tell you about
the morning we left Paris; Héloise went to see Adam again, and I went
shopping with Agnès, but I would not even tell Godmamma that! Victorine
says spiteful things to me whenever she can, but Jean and Héloise are
so charming that I don't mind the rest. We are to wear sort of
garden-party dresses and hats at the entertainment to-night. Dinner is
to be at eight, in a large pavilion, where they have had a beautiful
parquet floor laid down, and then when the tables are cleared away, we
shall begin the _cotillon_. As I have never danced in one before, I
hope I sha'n't make an idiot of myself.

[Sidenote: _Etiquette of the Bathroom_]

This morning I very nearly had another row with Godmamma--you will
never guess what for, Mamma! She knocked at the door of my room before
I was quite dressed, and then came in with a face as glum as a church.
She began at once. She said that she had heard something about me that
she hoped was a mistake, so she thought it better to ask me herself.
She understood that I went down to the Salle de Bain every day, instead
of just washing in my room. (I _have_ done so ever since Agnès
discovered there really was water enough for a decent bath there, and
that no one else seemed to use it.) I began to wonder if she was going