Paris, May 31, '62.

_My Dear Heart_,--Only a few lines in the press of business to tell
you I am well, but very lonely, with a view out over the green, in
this dull, rainy weather, while the bumble-bees hum and the sparrows
twitter. Grand audience tomorrow. It's vexatious that I have to buy
linen, towels, table-cloths, and sheets. * * * Farewell. Hearty love,
and write! Your most faithful v.B.


Paris, June 1, '62.

_My Dear Heart_,--The Emperor received me today, and I handed over my
credentials; he received me kindly, is looking well, has grown
somewhat stouter, but by no means fat and aged, as he generally is in
caricatures. The Empress is still one of the most beautiful women I
know, in spite of Petersburg; she has, if anything, grown more
beautiful in the past five years. The whole affair was official,
ceremonial; I was taken back in court-carriage with master of
ceremonies, etc. Next time I shall probably have a private audience. I
long for business, for I don't know what to do with myself. Today I
dined alone, the young gentlemen were out; the entire evening rain;
and at home alone. To whom should I go? In the midst of big Paris I am
lonelier than you are at Reinfeld, and sit here like a rat in a
deserted house. The only pleasure I have had was sending the cook away
because of overcharges. You know my indulgence in this matter, but
Rembours was a child in comparison. I am dining for the present in a
café. How long that will last, God knows. I shall probably receive a