After a miserable few weeks I am bound for Paris again soon. The court is at Versailles and the King has proclaimed an end to torture, which is a kindess to the enemy that they little deserve. Still, if a man is tortured I suppose he may confess to anything, be it true or no.
My reply to F- was met with an invitation to his Chateau in Saint-Martin-du-Tertre to further discuss our intended marriage. Being so near to Paris I will stop at l'Hotel de Sully, unpack some things, and travel on to Franconville-aux-Bois the next day. It being Saturday now we depart Monday early and hope to arrive Tuesday if the roads are good; but it looks as if it will rain today and so I expect we will arrive Wednesday instead.
A letter from Thierry tells me that he has heard of R's death, and he mourns with F- and I, and wonders what change this may bring to our plans. He cautions me not to act in haste. He also says that he recently held a small supper party at which he hired musicians to play an oboe concerto by Handel. This was met by less enthusiasm than he had expected, which I suspect is because it is an old work and people are more fond of being entertained by new music. He also writes that the "sound of an oboe is like unto a duck that has been taught to sing", which I doubt is meant as a compliment to the instrument. It did come as a surprise to hear of him entertaining in this manner, as it is something he could ill have afforded at this time a year past.
Reinette begs my attention, perhaps she and I will take a turn in the gardens before the rain begins and enjoy once more the peace of Saint Saturnin before the frenzy of Paris.