{_Threatened with Influenza_}
Now, darling, I want you to come home at once and tell Valmond to bring you, as I wish to see him. I don"t want to frighten you, but the fogs and the dissipation of attempting the London season in November have made me ill. I arrived here with a sore throat and a backache, and sent at once for Dr. Smart. As I write, I have a mustard-plaster on my chest and my feet in hot water, and I have just swallowed a dose of ammoniated quinine. I think I am in for influenza. I feel a perfect wreck.--Your dearest Mamma.
_P. S._--Dr. Smart has just left; he says if I will go to bed for forty-eight hours, he will try to let me go to Lady Beatrice"s big dinner on Sat.u.r.day. He is such a dear, and has such white teeth and soft hands, he drove all my fears away with such a pooh, pooh! But when he had gone, I heard Therese tell the maid that I was threatened with pleuro-pneumonia and had a chill on the liver. So exaggerative these French! I cannot write any more; my hand is trembling so I can hardly hold the pen, and I believe I am roasting with fever. Bring the tea-gown I ordered at Paquin"s when you come. I am longing to see you and Valmond. Don"t alarm yourself about me; I am really as hard as nails--and influenza is _a la mode_.