Little one, do you remember how we shocked each other that Christmas
morning in Florence, when we made a round of the churches together?
I can see you still, you pretty thing, crossing yourself at the door
of Santa Maria Novella. With all the strictness of my nineteen years
I was simply horrified.

"Constance!" I cried, "what on earth are you doing?"

"I don't like to be left in the cold," you replied; "if there are
any blessings going, I may as well have my share."

"But, dearest," said I, "you don't believe in it!"

"Of course I don't, but it may be true, for all that; how do we
know? Do let me enjoy myself, you dear old granny! The stale water
may not do me any good, but it won't do me any harm either, now will
it?"

Oh, dear, how the smell of the church comes back with the remembered
words! It was a long time ago. Dear and sweet one, I must not think
of you too much, I long for you so.

Yours in endless love,
EMILIA.




LETTER VI.