is that Robert is considered here to be looking better than he ever was
known to look--and this, notwithstanding the greyness of his beard . . .
which indeed, is, in my own mind, very becoming to him, the argentine
touch giving a character of elevation and thought to the whole
physiognomy. This greyness was suddenly developed--let me tell you how.
He was in a state of bilious irritability on the morning of his arrival
in Rome, from exposure to the sun or some such cause, and in a fit of
suicidal impatience shaved away his whole beard . . . whiskers and all!!
I _cried_ when I saw him, I was so horror-struck. I might have gone into
hysterics and still been reasonable--for no human being was ever so
disfigured by so simple an act. Of course I said when I recovered heart
and voice, that everything was at an end between him and me if he didn't
let it all grow again directly, and (upon the further advice of his
looking-glass) he yielded the point,--and the beard grew--but it grew
white--which was the just punishment of the gods--our sins leave their
traces.

'Well, poor darling Robert won't shock you after all--you can't choose
but be satisfied with his looks. M. de Monclar swore to me that he was
not changed for the intermediate years. . . .'


The family returned, however, to Siena for the summer of 1860, and from
thence Mrs. Browning writes to her sister-in-law of her great anxiety
concerning her sister Henrietta, Mrs. Surtees Cook,* then attacked by a
fatal disease.

* The name was afterwards changed to Altham.