For two days I have been taking out to walk my Cascaret, [Footnote: Francis Laur.] the little engineer of whom I told you. He has become very good looking, the ladies lift their lorgnons at him, and it depends only on him to attain the dignity of a negro “giraffier,” but he loves, he is engaged, he has four years to wait, to work to make himself a position, and he has made a vow. You would tell him that he is stupid, I preach to him, on the contrary, my old troubadour doctrine.
Morality aside, I don’t think that the children of this day have sufficient force to manage at the same time, science and dissipation, cocottes and engagements. The proof is that nothing comes from young Bohemia any longer. Good night, friend, work well, sleep well. Walk a little for the love of God and of me. Tell your judges who promised me a smile, to smile on my Berrichon.
Don’t take any further steps. Contrary to all anticipations, Despruneaux has gained his suit during the session.
Whether you have done it or not, he is none the less grateful about it and charges me to thank you with all his good and honest heart.
Bouilhet goes from better to better. I have just seen the directors who are delighted.
I love you and embrace you.
Think sometimes of your old troubadour. Friday
I think that I shall give you pleasure and joy when I tell you that La Conjuration d’Ambroise, thus says my porter, is announced as a real money-maker. There was a line this evening as at Villemer, and Magny which is also a barometer, shows fair weather.
So be content, if that keeps up, Bouilhet is a success. Sunday
I think that it will bring me luck to say good evening to my dear comrade before starting to work.