A thousand thanks to the good papa, who is so kind as to remember his daughter.

I have no more fever, and am better on the whole, but I still sleep badly, I have almost no appetite, I am in pain and feel that I have little strength. I am going to leave for Paris, where I will go to see my doctor, who is one of my friends. He never makes me take drugs, and sometimes finds a gentle regimen that soothes me. I am expecting my good papa tomorrow; the pleasure of seeing him increases my happiness when I am well, and makes me forget my troubles when I am sick. If my papa often sees me melancholy, he knows that it is the tendency, the habit of souls that are very tender. He will be able to say, “She amuses me less than another woman would,” but I flatter myself that my papa will add, “She loves me more on her own than all other women put together.” Farewell, you whom my heart loved from the first instant of our meeting. Yours until tomorrow, yours for all the days that your friendship will be so good as to give your daughter and friend.