Behold our family life! We meet at lunch and dinner, though often I am
alone with my mother at this latter meal, and I foresee that still
oftener I shall take it in my own rooms (following the example of my
grandmother) with only Miss Griffith for company, for my mother
frequently dines out. I have ceased to wonder at the indifference my
family have shown to me. In Paris, my dear, it is a miracle of virtue
to love the people who live with you, for you see little enough of
them; as for the absent--they do not exist!

Knowing as this may sound, I have not yet set foot in the streets, and
am deplorably ignorant. I must wait till I am less of the country
cousin and have brought my dress and deportment into keeping with the
society I am about to enter, the whirl of which amazes me even here,
where only distant murmurs reach my ear. So far I have not gone beyond
the garden; but the Italian opera opens in a few days, and my mother
has a box there. I am crazy with delight at the thought of hearing
Italian music and seeing French acting.

Already I begin to drop convent habits for those of society. I spend
the evening writing to you till the moment for going to bed arrives.
This has been postponed to ten o'clock, the hour at which my mother
goes out, if she is not at the theatre. There are twelve theatres in
Paris.

I am grossly ignorant and I read a lot, but quite indiscriminately,
one book leading to another. I find the names of fresh books on the
cover of the one I am reading; but as I have no one to direct me, I
light on some which are fearfully dull. What modern literature I have
read all turns upon love, the subject which used to bulk so largely in
our thoughts, because it seemed that our fate was determined by man