They speak Italian well, having engaged an Italian for the summer, and often wanted to embarrass me, but I know the language well enough not to be; the only thing I lack is to speak fluently.¹ Monday passed like Sunday; they showed us their factory. Helene, Jean, and I went riding (grey riding habit and hat); the road was good, the horse likewise, and I rode admirably well, despite the fears expressed by the entire family. In the evening we worked for a charity bazaar and at ten o'clock we went to bed. At last on Tuesday, at four o'clock, we set off. Everyone came to the station, and Mr Howard and Helene came as far as Dover. All in all, I spent two very pleasant days; they were very good and kind. The English countryside is a fine thing; they have a pretty garden, all sorts of games, and then I rode. Only I had swollen eyes and headaches while there. I really do not know what will become of me; I am in such a wretched state. They have a fine, comfortable house; nothing is lacking in the service or the food. They seemed so pleased to see us. At Dover we spent the night, and the next day, Wednesday, 16 September 1874, we embark; I have been ill since the morning. We have a cabin above deck and soon I feel so ill that I lie down. Instead of being vilely sick I feel a wrenching pain and I weep. The only remedy is to keep still. Unfortunately I was unable to examine all those people heading for the continent — so many Hitchcocks, those deares [sic] English ladies who arrive alone but find their kind on the boat, fraternize, and go in flocks. We have a captain of the utmost kindness. He gave me a little dog to distract me, and came himself several times, bringing smelling salts, et cetera. Before I lay down I sat at the cabin door and looked about. A gentleman seemed to me too disguised as an Englishman to be English, and I said rather loudly to Dina: Dina, look at that lady. He turned round, smiled, and walked away. I like to take people by surprise. The captain reserved us a compartment and at six o'clock we were in Paris. So as not to look at France, so ugly after England, I read the Odyssey and find a passage that makes me laugh — when Vulcan catches Mars and Venus in a net and all the gods come running and laugh. I enter Paris and miss more and more my dear and beautiful Albion. At the Hotel des Iles Britanniques we are welcomed as old acquaintances. I eat some soup and write. Maman has left a letter in which she writes that Emile has died. I believe I shall go into mourning for six weeks. Maman is in mourning, my aunt too, and I would be the only one in colour, like an animal. That cannot be. H[is] G[race] t[he] D[uke] o[f] Hamilton² Book 24 begun Thursday 17 September 1874, finished 26 October 1874 Paris, Hotel des Iles Britanniques, first floor