me after he had
read it, telling me very feelingly that I could in everything rely upon
him and upon his influence and credit.

Here is Henriette's letter

"It is I, dearest and best friend, who have been compelled to abandon
you, but do not let your grief be increased by any thought of my sorrow.
Let us be wise enough to suppose that we have had a happy dream, and not
to complain of destiny, for never did so beautiful a dream last so long!
Let us be proud of the consciousness that for three months we gave one
another the most perfect felicity. Few human beings can boast of so much!
Let us swear never to forget one another, and to often remember the happy
hours of our love, in order to renew them in our souls, which, although
divided, will enjoy them as acutely as if our hearts were beating one
against the other. Do not make any enquiries about me, and if chance
should let you know who I am, forget it for ever. I feel certain that you
will be glad to hear that I have arranged my affairs so well that I
shall, for the remainder of my life, be as happy as I can possibly be
without you, dear friend, by my side. I do not know who you are, but I am
certain that no one in the world knows you better than I do. I shall not
have another lover as long as I live, but I do not wish you to imitate
me. On the contrary I hope that you will love again, and I trust that a
good fairy will bring along your path another Henriette. Farewell . . .
farewell."

......................

I met that adorable woman fifteen years later; the reader will see where
and how, when we come to that period of my life.

......................

I went back to my room, careless of the future, broken down by the
deepest of sorrows, I locked myself in, and went to bed. I felt so low in
spirits that I was stunned. Life was not a burden, but only because I did
not give a thought to life. In fact I was in a state of complete apathy,
moral and physical. Six years later I found myself in a similar
predicament, but that time love was not the cause of my sorrow; it was
the horrible and too famous prison of The Leads, in Venice.

I was not much better either in 1768, when I was lodged in the prison of
Buen Retiro, in Madrid, but I must not anticipate events. At the end of
twenty-four hours, my exhaustion was very great, but I did not find the
sensation disagreeable, and, in the state of mind in which I was then, I
was pleased with the idea tha