I never read anything about a child more exquisite than your little girl's remark “Il pleut” when someone put a sunshade up. It's the most profound thing about a very young baby's vision of the world I've ever struck. It's what babies in prams think. It's what you say long before you talk. She's altogether a ravishing person—no, so much more than that. She is a tiny vision there in those gardens for ever. The tenderness is perfect—it's so true.

I am writing in the thick of a thunder-storm. They are regular items now in the late afternoon. It gets misty, the birds sound loud, it smells of irises and then it thunders. I love such summer storms. I love hearing the maids run in the passages to shut the windows and draw up the blinds, and then you see on the road between the vineyards people hurrying to take shelter. Besides, I've such a great part of the sky to see that I can watch the beginning, the middle and the end.