conscientious landscapes. What scrupulous majesty, of which the first
sight awes with its grandeur, and the detail is profoundly moving!

You see, dear mother, how God dispenses blessings that are far greater
than griefs. It is not even a question of patience, since time has no
longer any meaning for us, for it is not a matter of any calculable
duration. But then, what richness of emotion in each present minute!

This then is our life, of which I wrote to you that not one event must
make of it something unachieved, interrupted; and I hope to preserve
this wisdom. But at the same time I want to ally it with another wisdom
which looks to the future, even if the future is forbidden to us. Yes,
let us take all from the hands of the present (and the present brings us
so many treasures!), but let us also prepare for the future.


_November 5, 8 o'clock._

DEAR MOTHER,--Do not hide from me anything of what happens in Paris, of
your cares, or your occupations. All that you will decide is for the
best. My own happiness, in the midst of all this, lies just in that
security I have in thinking of your spirit.

The weather is still exquisite and very soft. To-day, without leaving
the beautiful region to which we came on September 20th, we have
returned to the woods. I like that less than the wide open view, but
there is prettiness here too. And then the sky, now that the leaves have
fallen, is so beautiful and so tender.

I have written to C----. I will write to Mme. C----. I hope for a letter