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 tunately we leave this directly, to return by slow stages to Paris and I am afraid that my irritation may begin again, and I may be obliged to go to bed as soon as I arrive. That would neither suit me nor the theatre. By remaining five or six days longer I, most likely, should have been perfectly well. But what would Messieurs les Sociétaires say if I were not home by the 25th? What conjectures, what statements, what gossip! I am determined, therefore, to start. I began my journey by Geneva, thence to Chamounix. I ascended from Montanvert to see the Mer de Glace. Imagine a stormy sea on the top of the mountains struck motionless by divine power. Nothing can be imagined finer or more striking than this sight. Ill as I was, it enchanted me.

After the great drama comes the vaudeville. In the inn at the top of Montanvert a party of real Parisians, quite hot from the passage de l'Opéra, was stopping. A large man, probably a stockbroker, habitué of the Variétés or the Café Anglais; three young women, whose travelling dresses were copied with the greatest exactness from the Journal des Modes; and two young collegians, travelling evidently to finish their education. One of the ladies thought she recognised me. "How like Rachel she is!" "But it is Rachel herself!" answered one of the collegians. "I saw her quite lately in Phèdre. Her face has remained imprinted on my memory." "Come, come," answered the old habitué of the Café Anglais; "Rachel is not nearly as pretty as this charming person." I will spare you any more of the discussion, which, becoming heated, reached the point of either a free-fight or a bet. The latter carried the day; but you will never guess the prize. A leg of mutton! The ingenious youth undertook to solve the mystery. We had left the inn, and, aided by the guides, we ventured, not without fear and trembling, on the mer de glace. Crossing a crevasse, I found myself face to face with the individual whom I had heard make the bet. He was slightly embarrassed at first; then, turning his head a little, he gave expression to the following sentiment: "Nature and art—all are admirable!" He had said to himself "If it is Rachel, she will be flattered by the exquisite delicacy of this insinuating compliment, and will not be able to conceal her satisfaction." But, much more occupied with the slippery ground on which I stood than with the gentleman's flattering words, I passed calmly along. Upon which he turns to his party and cries out, "You see, it is not Rachel: I have gained my bet!" Not wishing, however, to be the innocent cause of so considerable a loss as a leg of mutton, having returned to the inn before the Parisians, I wrote in my best handwriting in the visitors'-book, "Pay the leg of mutton. Sir; I am Rachel!" I kiss you, my dear Madame Samson, as I love you, and that is with my whole heart.