I feel like crying, dearest
Mamma, so I won't write any more now.
Your affectionate daughter,
ELIZABETH.
TONNERRE
HOTEL DE LA POULE D'OR,
TONNERRE.
_(Somewhere on the way to Dijon.)_
Dearest Mamma,--We have got this far! Never have you imagined such an
affair as our trip is. Coming across the Channel was bad enough. Aunt Maria
sniffed chloroform and remained semi-conscious until we got to Boulogne,
because she said one never could trust the sea, although it looked smooth
enough from the pier; on her honeymoon she recollected just the same
deceitful appearance and they took five hours and she was very sick and
decided not to chance it again! Uncle John had to hold one of her hands and
I the bottle, but we got there safely in the usual time and not a ripple on
the water! The motor had been sent on, and after sleeping at Boulogne we
started. The little gamins shouted, "Quel drole de char triomphant! Bon
voyage, Mesdames," and Aunt Maria smiled and bowed as pleased as possible,
not having heard a word.
Uncle John was as gay and attentive as I suppose he was on the
journey--this is how they speak of it--and made one or two quite risque
jokes down the ear trumpet, and Aunt Maria blushed and looked so coy.
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