[Geneva—Sunday, 2 October 1859]

Sunday 2d of October. How summer-like & lovely the day is! Like the spring or mid-summer, yet how unlike, with all these added beauties of atmosphere of color, the vineyards laden with fruits and the sound of passing footsteps lulled by the falling leaves. The year is dying but such a death, already radiant with promise of immortality.

We go to Paris tomorrow. Could we leave without regret?


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