The lovely letter that you wrote me, my dear friend, made me regret even more strongly not having been able to dine with you Wednesday. I was hoping that after having said such pretty things on paper, you would come tell them in person: I am quite piqued to have hoped for too much, for I admit that I like pretty things very much, and above all those that come from you. I will get news of you today, and I hope that I will only hear good news about your pain in the shoulder. But, à propos, what did you do to that shoulder? What if it was by chance a rheumatism acquired under the windows of one of my rivals, where you were youthful enough to spend the beautiful clear nights playing the guitar and whistling through your fingers? Understand me well, I would not feel sorry for you. In any case it will be a good lesson for you; and I understand better every day how much fickle and foolish youth needs these. What reassures me is that Mr. your son watches over your conduct: and I recommend that you follow his advice.

Adieu, My friend, I embrace you tenderly, and I long for you very much.