They evidently took great pleasure in the society of each other. Every evening， from six to eight， they all sat in the gardens in a circle together， sewing， knitting， and chatting， with occasional merry bursts of laughter.
Their existence is not， by many degrees， as monotonous as that of most women in isolated households杄specially of the farmer's wife in her solitary home， miles away from a village and a post office. They taught a school of fifty orphan girls， who lived in the convent， and for whom they frequently had entertainments. They also had a few boarders of the old aristocracy of France， who hate the Republic and still cling to their belief in Popes and Kings. For the purpose of perfecting herself in the language， my daughter embraced every opportunity to talk with all she met， and thus learned the secrets of their inner life. As Sister Rose spoke English， I gleaned from her what knowledge I could as to their views of time and eternity. I found their faith had not made much progress through the terrible upheavals of the French Revolution. Although the Jesuits have been driven out of France， and the pictures of Saints， the Virgin Mary， and Christ， have been banished from the walls of their schools and colleges， the sincere Catholics are more devoted to their religion because of these very persecutions.
Theodore， his wife， and baby， and Mr. Blatch， a young Englishman， came to visit us. The sisters and school children manifested great delight in the baby， and the former equal pleasure in Mr. Blatch's marked attention to my daughter， as babies and courtships were unusual tableaux in a convent.
As my daughter was studying for a university degree in mathematics， I went with her to the Lycee， a dreary apartment in a gloomy old building with bare walls， bare floors， dilapidated desks and benches， and an old rusty stove. Yet mid such surroundings， the professor always appeared in full dress， ****** a stately bow to his class. I had heard so much of the universities of France that I had pictured to myself grand buildings， like those of our universities； but， instead， I found that the lectures were given in isolated rooms， here， there， and anywhere杣niformly dreary inside and outside.
The first day we called on Professor Depesyrons. After ****** all our arrangements for books and lectures， he suddenly turned to my daughter， and， pointing to the flounces on her dress， her jaunty hat， and some flowers in a buttonhole， he smiled， and said： "All this， and yet you love mathematics？"
As we entered the court， on our way to the Lycé；e and inquired for the professor's lecture room， the students in little groups watched us closely. The one who escorted us asked several questions， and discovered， by our accent， that we were foreigners， a sufficient excuse for the novelty of our proceeding. The professor received us most graciously， and ordered the janitor to bring us chairs， table， paper， and pencils.
Then we chatted pleasantly until the hour arrived for his lecture. As I had but little interest in the subject， and as the problems were pronounced in a foreign tongue， I took my afternoon nap. There was no danger of affronting the professor by such indifference to his eloquence， as he faced the blackboard， filling it with signs and figures as rapidly as possible； then expunging them to refill again and again， without a break in his explanations； talking as fast as his hand moved. Harriot struggled several days to follow him， but found it impossible， so we gave up the chase after cubes and squares， and she devoted herself wholly to the study of the language. These were days， for me， of perfect rest and peace. Everything moved as if by magic， no hurry and bustle， never a cross or impatient word spoken. As only one or two of the sisters spoke English， I could read under the trees uninterruptedly for hours. Emerson， Ruskin， and Carlyle were my chosen companions.
We made several pleasant acquaintances among some Irish families who were trying to live on their reduced incomes in Toulouse. One of these gave us a farewell ball. As several companies of the French army were stationed there， we met a large number of officers at the ball. I had always supposed the French were graceful dancers. I was a quiet "looker on in Vienna，" so I had an opportunity of comparing the skill of the different nationalities.
All admitted that none glided about so easily and gracefully as the Americans.
They seemed to move without the least effort， while the English， the French， and the Germans labored in their dancing， bobbing up and down， jumping and jerking， out of breath and red in the face in five minutes. One great pleasure we had in Toulouse was the music of the military band in the public gardens， where， for half a cent， we could have a chair and enjoy pure air and sweet music for two hours.
We gave a farewell dinner at the Tivollier Hô；tel to some of our friends. With speeches and toasts we had a merry time. Professor Joly was the life of the occasion. He had been a teacher in France for forty years and had just retired on a pension. I presented to him "The History of Woman Suffrage，" and he wrote a most complimentary review of it in one of the leading French journals. Every holiday must have its end. Other duties called me to England. So， after a hasty good-by to Jacournassy and La Sagesse， to the Black Mountains and Toulouse， to Languedoc and the South， we took train one day in October， just as the first leaves began to fall， and， in fourteen hours， were at Paris. I had not seen the beautiful French capital since 1840. My sojourn within its enchanting walls was short，杢oo short，朼nd I woke one morning to find myself， after an absence of forty-two years， again on the shores of England， and before my eyes were fairly open， grim old London welcomed me back. But the many happy hours spent in "merry England" during the winter of 1882-83 have not effaced from my memory the four months in Languedoc.
