don't know on whom we can count. C'est egal. Mamma has an idea
that, whether or not we appreciate America ourselves, we shall at
least be universally appreciated. It's true that we have begun to
be, a little; you would see that by the way that Mr. Cockerel and
Mr. Louis Leverett are always inviting me to walk. Both of these
gentlemen, who are Americans, have asked leave to call upon me in
New York, and I have said, Mon Dieu, oui, if it's the custom of the
country. Of course I have not dared to tell this to mamma, who
flatters herself that we have brought with us in our trunks a
complete set of customs of our own, and that we shall only have to
shake them out a little and put them on when we arrive. If only the
two gentlemen I just spoke of don't call at the same time, I don't
think I shall be too much frightened. If they do, on the other
hand, I won't answer for it. They have a particular aversion to
each other, and they are ready to fight about poor little me. I am
only the pretext, however; for, as Mr. Leverett says, it's really
the opposition of temperaments. I hope they won't cut each other's
throats, for I am not crazy about either of them. They are very
well for the deck of a ship, but I shouldn't care about them in a
salon; they are not at all distinguished. They think they are, but
they are not; at least Mr. Louis Leverett does; Mr. Cockerel doesn't
appear to care so much. They are extremely different (with their
opposed temperaments), and each very amusing for a while; but I
should get dreadfully tired of passing my life with either. Neither
has proposed that, as yet; but it is evidently what they are coming
to. It will be in a great measure to spite each other, for I think
that au fond they don't quite believe in me. If they don't, it's
the only point on which they agree. They hate each other awfully;
they take such different views. That is, Mr. Cockerel hates Mr.
Leverett--he calls him a sickly little ass; he says that his