The sale of Franconville is complete, and my party has triumphed. As happy as the young man is, he cannot be but half as joyful as I am myself. A letter from Thierry only adds to a sense of perfection, when normally it is my whole cause for happiness. I had word that F- was in attendance at the sale in person, and looked wholly miserable, but I think that he can be made to suffer still more.
Tomorrow when I hold my Lever I shall address a "bon mot" to my visitors, late in the process when most of them will be present. I shall say to them something like "Le pauvre marquis de Franconville-aux-Bois n'a ni bois, ni les villes ni Francs. Que ferons-nous l'appeler maintenant? Marquis de Rien! A partir de maintenant, quand il remercie de nous, nous lui dirai "Il n'y a rien." Alors, comment nous allons rire de nous."
"The poor Marquis de Franconville-aux-bois has neither woods nor towns nor Francs. What shall we call him now? Marquis of Nothing! From now on when he thanks us we shall say to him 'It's nothing.' Then how we shall laugh to ourselves."