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From Marie Guérin to Thérèse - November 20 , 1887

From Marie Guérin to Thérèse.

November 20, 1887

 

My dear little Thérèse,

I am going to ask you to excuse the handwriting. M. Puchot is in the large room with Papa, and we are obliged to write on the counter of the Pharmacy, with a very poor pen.

This evening, there is a meeting at the Catholic Club, and we are going to it with the Maudelonde girls. It is a music evening party and would not amuse you very much.

Yesterday, we celebrated Mamma's feast. We gave her our chair back, and you can't imagine how pretty it is and how rich the pale blue lining makes it. Afterward, I played a piece on the piano and sang a sentimental song. The feast was not complete like last year's, for you were missing from our little reunion. Mamma gave us a little present, and I give you a hundred, a thousand chances to guess what it is. You would never guess, and that's why I'm going to tell you. A little watch chain in gold but very tiny; it's the style. Are you amazed, dear Thérèse? I assure you I wasn't expecting this surprise.

Marcelline and Maria are going to go to the Club; Mamma has given them this little distraction in honor of her feast, and they are very happy.

Weill dear little sister, the audience must be over! How eager I am to know the result. Oh! I beg you, write us at the earliest mo­ment. Your letters are awaited with great impatience, and when they are late like the last time, this begins to cause worry. I beg you, too, to tell us in your next letter what are the hotels you must stay at in the cities you will be visiting.

Were you always in good health during your trip, are you al­ways seeing beautiful things? I'm burning with the desire to see

you once again so that you can tell us all the marvels that passed before your eyes. I see the same thing all the time, a muddy street, a fog that doesn't permit you to see ten feet ahead of you, a coat­ing of ice that just misses making you tumble, this is not as cheer­ful as the fields of Rome covered with daisies and Italy's beautiful blue sky doesn't appear in Lisieux.

Adieu, my dear little Thérèse, kiss uncle and Céline for me.

Your sister,

Marie

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