time. Canard a la Rouennaise is good, it is done here with a wine called Grenache.  I had two helpings, and just as we were finishing, the Vicomte and “Antoine” came in from the station.  They aren’t in uniform now, but their hair does stick up so, and somehow their clothes don’t look comfortable.  I liked them in uniform best.  Madame de Vermandoise talked to “Antoine” across the table quite a lot.  That is the only way one may speak directly to a person, it seems.  After dinner we went in search of some place of amusement, but there was no theatre open, so we had to content ourselves with a walk along the quay, and then we came back and drank sirop.  It is sweet and nice, and you can have it raspberry, or gooseberry, or what you like, and I am sure if the people in England who drink nasty old ports and things could have it they would like it much better.  The Baronne calls all the men by their end names like “Tournelle,” “Croixmare,” “Tremors,” &c., and every one is very devoted to her, and I daresay she is even older than you, mamma; isn’t it wonderful?  Jean now always sits beside me, I suppose he thinks he is my host, but I would rather have the Vicomte de la Tremors, who is very amusing.  But to go back to Rouen.  It was a treat to sleep fearlessly in a clean bed after Vernon, and I actually had a bath in the morning.  I don’t know where Agnes retrieved it from.

[Sidenote:  "Coiffer St. Catherine"]

You can see Joan of Arc’s flames quite plain, we went there as soon as we were dressed.  “Antoine” would insist it was only the black from a smoky chimney, but I paid no attention to him.  The Horloge is nice, and we did a lot of churches, but they always look to me just the same, and any way they all smell alike, and I don’t think I shall bother with any more.  We had breakfast on the Sauterelle, but it was so fine after we left Vernon, and yesterday, that we could have it each day in the bows under the awning, and so had not to wash our forks and plates.  The Chateaux are so picturesque, and such woods! after you leave Rouen.  Heloise did not sleep yesterday.  “Antoine” talked so much, no one could really have had a comfortable nap.  In the afternoon the Marquise told us our fortunes; she said Heloise would marry twice, which made her look as pleased as Punch, but Jean did not think it at all funny, though every one else laughed She told me I should probably be an old maid ("Coiffer St. Catherine"), and so I said in that case I should run pins into the horrid old saint’s head:  I simply won’t be an old maid, Mamma, so they need not make any more predictions.  However, it would be worse to be one here than at home, because even up to forty, if you aren’t married, you mayn’t go to the nice theatres, or talk to people alone, or even speak much more than “Yes” and “No,” and you generally get a nasty moustache or something.  We saw a whole family of elderly girls at our hotel at Rouen, and they all had moustaches or moles on the cheek.