At last a letter from Thierry to say that he has arrived safely! It is a strange letter in that it says little else, but I am relieved to have word in any case. I have been in a terrible malaise ever since he left, and even my precious Reinette has hardly been able to rouse me. I want neither to attend parties and balls, nor to read or paint at home. I long for something to do, but detest leaving my home. I think it is partly the weather, which remains chill and snowy, but I'm sure it is partly the disinterest in Paris which I always come to feel after a time. When I was younger I could go a year or more without becoming bored with the city, and now it seems only a few months can make me feel this way. Truly, in Saint Saturnin there is little enough to fill ones time, but there at least I may be comfortably alone without remark.
Reinette grows quickly, and is so dear despite her desire to chew everything in sight. She is currently curled up on the desk next to my hand, and dislikes to be anywhere else when I am writing. I am trying to decide who to have paint us, and wish to have it done before she ceases to be a puppy. There will be time enough for her adult portraits when she is older, and these days are fleeting I know.
I have informed my steward that I will likely be staying now until the spring, and await word from him on any further actions that must be taken. I will have to deal with the reacquisition and the King's offer when the court returns to Versailles, but for now I will not worry about that.