'. . . It was a long time before we could settle ourselves in a private
apartment. . . . At last we came off to these Champs Elysees, to a very
pleasant apartment, the window looking over a large terrace (almost
large enough to serve the purpose of a garden) to the great drive and
promenade of the Parisians when they come out of the streets to sun
and shade and show themselves off among the trees. A pretty little
dining-room, a writing and dressing-room for Robert beside it, a
drawing-room beyond that, with two excellent bedrooms, and third
bedroom for a "femme de menage", kitchen, &c. . . . So this answers all
requirements, and the sun suns us loyally as in duty bound considering
the southern aspect, and we are glad to find ourselves settled for six
months. We have had lovely weather, and have seen a fire only yesterday
for the first time since we left England. . . . We have seen nothing in
Paris, except the shell of it. Yet, two evenings ago we hazarded going
to a reception at Lady Elgin's, in the Faubourg St. Germain, and saw
some French, but nobody of distinction.

'It is a good house, I believe, and she has an earnest face which must
mean something. We were invited to go every Monday between eight and
twelve. We go on Friday to Madame Mohl's, where we are to have some of
the "celebrites". . . . Carlyle, for instance, I liked infinitely more
in his personality than I expected to like him, and I saw a great deal
of him, for he travelled with us to Paris, and spent several evenings
with us, we three together. He is one of the most interesting men I
could imagine, even deeply interesting to me; and you come to understand
perfectly when you know him, that his bitterness is only melancholy, and
his scorn, sensibility. Highly picturesque, too, he is in conversation;
the talk of writing men is very seldom so good.

'And, do you know, I was much taken, in London, with a young authoress,