I mean Eugene Belleton.

If he talked in many places as he talked in this room, I can't be very much surprised, but I am really very sorry.

He is one of those amiable domestic men who delight in talking 'battle, murder, and sudden death.' [_The end of this letter is wanting_] * * * * * _To Miss Mulock_ [Paris], 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysees: June 2, [1852].
My husband went directly to Rue Vivienne and came back without the book.
We waited and waited, but at last it reached us, and we have read it, and since then I have let some days go by through having been unwell.
You seemed to let me sit still in my chair and do nothing; you did not call too loud.

So was it with most other things in the universe.

Now, having awakened from my somnolency, recovered from 'La Grippe' (or what mortal Londoners call the influenza), the first person and first book I think of must naturally be you and yours.
So I thank you much, much, for the book.