most ardent declaration both by looks and reverential gestures, sends her exquisite bouquets, and follows us home in the evening, at a distance. We call him L'inconnu.
Tuesday.—It cleared up in the morning, with a little sunshine at noon, whence were great anticipations. At half-past three the Corso is full of people, driving and walking, although the sky is again cloudy. People seem as though they would seize upon the day with fresh courage and good humor. The number of carriages increases, and there are many handsome costumes in them; the flower-warfare goes on briskly; the clouds, however, come down in showers of rain. But the people will not be driven away, and hoist their umbrellas; L'inconnu also perseveres, under his unbrella, with his hand upon his heart, and his eyes fixed upon our balcony. We, however, take flight into the drawing-room, where we console ourselves with beautiful songs by our hostess, and with Mendelsohn's Leider ohne Worte, played by a young German. Horse-racing, as on the preceding evenings, and going home in pouring rain.
“Make up your minds!” says the artist, Rudolf Lehman, “it will not be any better during the whole Carnival!”
He received, in reply, a chorus of ah! and oh!
N. B. Rudolf Lehman is one of the young men who are on very intimate terms with the family, and who come and go during the whole Carnival-time as it pleases them, and who thus add to the life and agreeableness of its society. How beautiful and cheerful all this would be, if the weather were but fine!—Good-night!
