It did rain yesterday, and all day today, so our excursion to the lake was postponed; but it did allow some of the other guests to practice their little play to the point that they felt ready to perform it tonight. It was a pleasantly boring little piece, and I wonder how they will amuse themselves after this. Hopefully not with any further dramatic attempts.
I have spent most of my time reading and writing letters. I wrote to Maman, Thierry, Christine, Annemarie, and Mme Le Sang-Boeuf. I finally received a letter in return from Mme S-B, and so my last letter, when it reaches her, will be quite unnecessary. In short, all is in order for my visit to Versailles and Paris after the summer. Trim and fabric samples are on their way to me so I may order the rest of my wardrobe; and my mantelet, chemises, and Marianne and Pauline’s clothes have been ordered and begun.
Thierry writes to me that his father is very ill, and so I pray for him, but know that this will likely mean I will hear from him much less for a while. His youngest sister is recently married and expecting her first child in October, and oh how I envy her that happiness. His family can trace their roots all the way back to Charlemagne, but are much fallen from that high position. Time may make peasants of us all, and raise peasantry to lofty places; witness Mme Du Barry, who began her life in a brothel and became the mistress of the king. Still, I understand that she is very course, unlike Pompadour.
Christine writes that she is lonely in Rome, and seeks amorous adventure. No doubt that is because she spends her hours ensconced in libraries and laboratories, instead of at parties and more public places. I miss my dear friend terribly and look forward to our reunion in Paris. Being somewhat younger than myself she is only just beginning to think on marriage, no doubt spurred on by her younger sister’s impending nuptials.
Olympe, Comtesse
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