The first day we called on Professor Depesyrons. After making 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 Lycée 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