ing prepared what is
necessary, I shall be sure to see if it be so; to-morrow's letter ought
to contain two. I continue your letter 17, and I perceive with rapture
that you have had a thick cream-like emission of enjoyment. How
delicious it would be in my tea. How I should like to send you some
like it also. It is a good thing that my letter to the little girl was
successful. Will you tell Madame de Delmar that I am sorry to hear that
she is suffering, particularly as her ordinarily detestable disposition
only becomes more thick and more execrable. Suppress this latter part
if you think it better.

Ah! you think that Madame Salvi has played her cards well and in what
way, I ask? You are too bad, too implacable. I do not like that in you.
I have told you that your suspicions wounded me, and I think you can
believe me when I tell you that I have completely changed my conduct in
that respect. Besides, what can I possibly do. I am very uncomfortable
here. The Abdol don't want me; besides, the Duke has given me to
understand that I ought occasionally to go and see his wife, and the
Borgh bother me with all their children.

Thanks, my good angel, for the letter Des Pierre. If it be decided that
you leave, I shall go for a few days to Civita--sad and mournful
consolation. Why do you tell me that you will go barefooted when I go
to see you. I am quite of your opinion that your feet are only too
delicious. The costume rather disgusted me than otherwise, without,
however, producing any effect upon me. To-morrow I shall pay the
Duchess de Grano a visit, and since it seems to put you out, shall not
return again to Albano.

Heaven knows that the pleasure is not great, and that I care very
little for it. The other day I did not even find it any cooler there.
The Duchess of St. Alban's leaves on the 20th for Schwalback and
England on account of the apprehensions about war--another subject of
uneasiness for me--such is life. I can go and live with the Duchess de
Grano and Salvi. No one would say anything about the one, and not much
about the other, whatever you yourself might say, but that annoys me
exceedingly, and disgusts me, and I dare not do so with you. You might,
however, have been my ambassadress, see what it is to be so seductive,
so graceful, so pretty, so kind and gentle. Just fancy, dearest, that I
have not answered Madame Rudiger. I must really do so to-day. She is a
person one must be careful with.

I have always thi