ect to the Greek; but in truth I have very little to tell you.
From the prince I can learn nothing, as he has been admitted into her
confidence, and is, I believe, bound to secrecy. The fact has, however,
transpired that she is not a Greek, as we supposed, but a German of the
highest descent. From a certain report that has reached me, it would
appear that her mother is of the most exalted rank, and that she is the
fruit of an unfortunate amour which was once talked of all over Europe.
A course of secret persecution to which she had been exposed, in
consequence of her origin, compelled her to seek protection in Venice,
and to adopt that concealment which had rendered it impossible for the
prince to discover her retreat. The respect with which the prince
speaks of her, and a certain deferential deportment which he maintains
towards her, appear to corroborate the truth of this report.

He is devoted to her with a fearful intensity of passion which increases
day by day. In the earliest stage of their acquaintance but few
interviews were granted; but after the first week the separations were
of shorter duration, and now there is scarce a day on which the prince
is not with her. Whole evenings pass without our even seeing him, and
when he is not with her she appears to form the sole object of his
thoughts. His whole being seems metamorphosed. He goes about as if
wrapped in a dream, and nothing that formerly interested him has now
power to arrest his attention even for a moment.

How will this end, my dear friend? I tremble for the future. The
rupture with his court has placed my master in a state of humiliating
dependence on one sole person--the Marquis Civitella. This man is now
master of our secrets--of our whole fate. Will he always conduct
himself as nobly as he does now? Are his good intentions to be relied
upon; and is it expedient to confide so much weight and power to one
person--even were he the best of men? The prince's sister has again
been written to--the result of this fresh appeal you shall learn in my
next letter.

COUNT O------- IN CONTINUATION.

This letter never reached me. Three months passed without my receiving
any tidings from Venice,--an interruption to our correspondence which
the sequel but too clearly explained. All my friend's letters to me had
been kept back and suppressed. My emotion may be conceived when, in the
December of the same year, the following letter reached me by mere
accident