Paris is as beautiful as I remembered! Our house is quite near the Jardin de Luxembourg and even nearer the river. The weather is fair enough to take breakfast in the back garden most mornings. We drink black, black coffee and listen to the birds and the water tumbling in the fountains on the wall. We almost forget we are in the middle of a city.
I have been three weeks at the academy now and have met a few other students. Most are French, but many of them are from other places. There are some other Americans, a few Germans, a Russian, an English girl and several Italians. We all speak French together in all of our different accents. I’ve told them I’m from Boston. They find me quite queer enough as I am without knowing I come from so far away as Arizona.
The instructors make us draw and draw. It is supposed to be important, but I sometimes think I will die of boredom. They will not let us touch a brush for twelve weeks, the more experienced students tell us. I wish you were here, so I could draw you, darling. I’d never get bored with that. For now, I enclose a few sketches of the house and garden so you can see for yourself where I am living.
I know you will be terribly busy now that your lectures and laboratories have begun, but write me as often as you can. I wear your letters out with folding and unfolding them to read over and over. Eleanor frowns when she sees me carrying them around like a child with a favorite doll. But she couldn’t fault me for reading new ones.
I must go now and dress for the studio this afternoon. It is just like Radcliffe. They will not let me wear my own clothes, but I must wear skirts. I suppose it is worth the trouble for the privilege of being here, but you know how I hate it.
I love you, sweetest girl. Please write to me every moment you can and tell me all that is in your heart. You know there is nothing but precious Sophia in mine.
Your own boy,