My cold remains, and so does the rain; which "raineth every day", or so it seems. A week until we leave for Paris and the packing has taken on a maddening intensity that forces me to realize as I think I had not, that I really am going. I know that I could cancel the whole venture, but after all of the money and the preparations, that would be strange indeed. My dreams have all been of searching for something, and often of falling into snow or grass or mud. This does not bode well, but I am determined not to be superstitious.
Abbe Veronde gave me a special blessing this morning before mass and heard my confession. This time next week we will hear mass and make our final preparations for the journey, which, God-willing, will be swift and safe. I do hope that all of the rain will cease or else the roads will be all mud, and that won't help.
Maman writes that she will join me at the Hotel de Sully on the 15th, and is bringing only her own maid and a tutor for Matthieu. I look forward to seeing my youngest brother most of all, who must be quite grown by now, though we are none of us tall in truth.
No word on the course of the war for some time. The Siege of Gibraltar carries on, but we have not yet breached the garrison; as I am sure we shall given time. T- is with me for the time and will be until I depart, under the auspices of aiding my steward with the travel arrangements. A man who travels alone, I find, is fairly invisible. With a new commission, I trust, society will see him more clearly.