I find Winslow's calling card — he came yesterday.

"You see, Madame," I say, "we live on the same corridor, and this gentleman did not think it unnecessary to pay a call — while that pig-snout Audiffret... no, it is an outrage!"

If only you knew what Robenson made me do at luncheon! Oh! I am still furious — she made me eat a whole piece of rare meat!

Thank God I am fresh and well in Paris.

I let my aunt go into town alone in order to stay by myself and write — but when I am not alone I must chatter and I write nothing. It is curious how I find nothing to say here.

In Nice there is always enough to fill a quantity of pages, and I abridge and hurry — whereas here, nothing.

Mme Winslow is all amiability towards me; today her sister-in-law spoke to me, and they all make eyes at me.

My hats and my dresses are coming along and I am delighted.

But you do not suspect to whom I have written. To Miss Ida Row, 728 Fifth Avenue, New York, United States of America.

Winslow has just given me this address. But why? you will ask. Ah! There it is — always for the sake of the Surprising One. You do not understand? Very well, I shall explain. Being in correspondence with Ida, I shall send her the "You will rot" letters etc. etc., and she will send them on from America. So Bibi will receive all of this from the United States, from New York. It is superb, adorable, magnificent!

And the letter about the rosière ceremony, from M. the prompter of the Théâtre-Français, which I have not yet sent — it will arrive from New York. Ardigo, Cresci, and Vial arriving from New York! I could swoon, upon my word of honour!

I am on edge today, and at dinner I again ate roastbeef^roast raw! It is abominable.