But of course one
couldn't marry a Frenchman anyway.
Chateau de Croixmare,
_Wednesday, September 7th._
[Sidenote: _Hippolyte's Testimonial_]
Dearest Mamma,--It was really quite sad saying good-bye to all the
people at Tournelle. The Baronne almost wept over me, and said that
they would be dreadfully dull without me. They all kissed me on both
cheeks, and even Hippolyte as he put us into the carriage after I
tipped him, remarked, "Mieux vaut epouser un francais et rester
toujours chez nous, vous etes trop belle demoiselle pour le brouillard
d'Angleterre!"
I wonder after all if the Marquis will ever marry Victorine, as it
seems, when he got back last night, he was in such a temper that he
made a scene with the Baronne and his mother. He said that Victorine
made him look ridiculous, that she was unappetising, without wit, and
ugly enough to have tranquillised St. Anthony at his worst moment of
temptation--whatever that means. (I overheard the Baronne tell all this
to Heloise while the old Baron was making me compliments in his fearful
English.) The Marquis stamped his foot, and finally, bursting into
tears, announced that he would go to Paris, back to Adele--whoever she
is--and find consolation! So off he started this morning the first
thing.
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