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September 23, 1788
I never thought I could be so bored in Paris. Can you imagine it? The greatest city in the world, and here I am, stuck in endless lectures from dawn to dusk. It's worse than that winter we spent in Strasbourg. Do you remember? When it snowed for a week straight and we couldn't leave the house, and all the books in the library were in German? We convinced that cook the house was haunted by some young Frankish prince, and the poor man refused to leave his kitchen without a rosary in one hand and a Bible in the other.
I miss those days. The things I'm learning from Father's friends are - well, I wish I could tell you about them. Someday, perhaps, but not now, and not like this. But still I find myself missing those days. Missing home. Missing you. Next time Father comes to Paris, you must persuade him to bring you along.
I remains always yours,