The
only thing we have to go for is the milk.
To make it seem all the more primitive there is a rickety old diligence
which runs from Quincy--Huiry is really a suburb of Quincy--to Esbly
twice a day, to connect with trains for Paris with which the branch road
does not connect. It has an imperial, and when you come out to see me,
at some future time, you will get a lovely view of the country from a
top seat. You could walk the four miles quicker than the horse
does,--it is uphill nearly all the way,--but time is no longer any
object with me. Amelie has a donkey and a little cart to drive me to
the station at Couilly when I take that line, or when I want to do an
errand or go to the laundress, or merely to amuse myself.
If you can really match this for a cheap, easy, simple way for an
elderly person to live in dignity, I wish you would. It is far easier
than living in Paris was, and living in Paris was easier for me than the
States. I am sorry, but it is the truth.
You ask me what I do with the "long days." My dear! they are short, and
yet I am out of bed a little after four every morning. To be sure I get
into bed again at half past eight, or, at latest, nine, every night.
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