cuirassier by Detaille, bought at Goupil's.

She saw again in her mind this cuirassier, which he had shown to her one
day, with pride, in his bedroom, near the mirror, under family portraits.
All this, at a distance, seemed to her petty and tiresome. She finished
her letter with words of friendship, the sweetness of which was not
feigned. Truly, she had never felt more peaceful and gentle toward her
lover. In four pages she had said little and explained less. She
announced only that she should stay a month in Florence, the air of which
did her good. Then she wrote to her father, to her husband, and to
Princess Seniavine. She went down the stairway with the letters in her
hand. In the hall she threw three of them on the silver tray destined to
receive papers for the post-office. Mistrusting Madame Marmet, she
slipped into her pocket the letter to Le Menil, counting on chance to
throw it into a post-box.

Almost at the same time Dechartre came to accompany the three friends in
a walk through the city. As he was waiting he saw the letters on the
tray.

Without believing that characters could be divined through penmanship,
he was susceptible to the form of letters as to elegance of drawing.
The writing of Therese charmed him, and he liked its openness, the bold
and simple turn of its lines. He looked at the addresses without reading
them, with an artist's admiration.

They visited, that morning, Santa Maria Novella, where the Countess
Martin had already gone with Madame Marmet. But Miss Bell had reproached
them for not observing the beautiful Ginevra of Benci on a fresco of the
choir. "You must visit that figure of the morning in a morning light,"