Arrived in Paris and I have met my delightful goddaughter, sent a note to Mme Elisabeth whom I am hoping to visit while here, and corresponded with Maman about the Christmas plans in Riom. I've also taken the opportunity to reach out to several people in pursuit of the annuity which was promised me after Thierry's death and which, all these years later, I have still not received. I'm fatigued by the relentlessly necessary advocacy needed to accomplish anything at Versailles, and very much exasperated at the extent to which I always seem to be out of money. It is true that my father left my mother and myself in not particularly enriched circumstances upon his death, but my schooling was not as expensive as it might otherwise have been, and I do not think that Maman was particularly extravagant. Nor am I; but yet the coins do slip away fast, and faster still when in Paris where I am at present ensconced officially with Elizabeth Comtesse R- though she very knowingly expects me to spend the majority of my evenings at the Chevalier's residence.
His home is pleasant, though somewhat old-fashioned for someone so aware of his image. This ceased to amaze me when I found out that the hotel was still owned by his father, who I gather is not keen to spend money on refurbishment. The Chevalier is all embarrassment and apologies on this account, I however keep telling him that it bothers me not a jot. Which it doesn't. I note that he is right and the home is a bit run-down in places and certainly demode, but it is comfortable nonetheless, and after all he doesn't do much in the way of entertaining at home. I suspect he'd like to do more.
Exhausted of late thanks to travel and the usual intrigue and the sheer force of will required to act in a manner expected by those who see me. The time allotted for widows to been seen grieving and in pain has long since expired, and I observe that there are few who, standing a room with a woman who has lost a much wished-for child, will have a care for her feelings upon the celebration of her friend's third healthy child. Some would call these wicked thoughts, and so they may be, but wickedness is human after all. They're only thoughts.
I await a return missive from the Princess and hopefully an invitation to Montreuil where I know I can be happy for a few moments at least in her gracious presence. But it is late in the morning now, and I must finish dressing and breakfast with my hostess before attending to any other matters.
Olympe
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