James's Park, where I go to walk with
Aunt Barbara. We went to the Abbey last Sunday; it reminded me
of the churches abroad, and the singing was so beautiful. In
Cornwall there was only a fiddle and a cracked flute, and
everybody sang out of tune; I did not like going to church
there at all. Please write to me soon, Monsieur Horace, and
tell me where you are, and what you are doing; I fancy it all
to myself--the big forests, and the rivers, and the flowers,
and everything."
Accompanying these would be Mrs. Treherne's reports:
"Madeleine improves every day, I think. She is much grown, and
resembles her mother more and more, though she will never be
so beautiful, to my mind; she has not, and never will have,
Magdalen's English air and complexion. She gets on well with
her London masters and classes, and has great advantages in
many ways over girls of her own age, especially in her
knowledge of foreign languages. I trust that by degrees the
memory of her disastrous past may fade away; we never speak of
it, and she is so constantly employed, and seems to take so
much interest in her occupation and studies, that I hope she
is ceasing to think of old days, and will grow up the quiet,
English girl I could wish to see Magdalen's daughter.
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