“P.S.--A thousand loving remembrances to your mother and your son. What a mania for marriage you’ve got, all of a sudden, and where are all your husbands? You hid them very well from me, for a whole year. I never beheld one of them; and you have two, my dear! I _had_ a good laugh, I can tell you! What are their names? And when is either of the two marriages to come off?” St. Petersburg, October 15, 1797. “I am alone to-day, my Charlotte; a year ago this very day I was with you; I had the relief of speech, but I could not feel more deeply than I do now the terrible anniversary which this shameful day marks for us. At this hour we were on the Richmond Road. Yes, Charlotte dear, I am thinking sadly of _her_, whom I loved more than all the world besides, to whom I would have sacrificed anything. That thought is my one solace now; that thought stays with me still, the thought of _Her_, of _Her alone_.... It is eleven o’clock now. Where was _She_ then? I evoke it all--the whole scene, afresh; I have read again the lamentable story of her final sufferings, and my heart is oppressed--I feel almost crazy--I know not what I want to say! I assure you, Charlotte, that it makes me happier to tell you all this; particularly to-day, when I’m so miserable, my friendship with you is a consolation--ah! you see I cannot write coherently. I feel so ill I wish I could talk to somebody, and tell them about myself; but how can I? There is no one at all to listen to me. For who can understand all that we feel about _her_? No one, no one. It’s better to say nothing, and I have said nothing; I haven’t spoken of the anniversary, not even to M. de C. If I wasn’t feeling so serious, I’d tell you that he bores me to death. He’s the most exacting creature in the world, and I am only sorry that I brought him with me. He has done not a bit of good here, and he is going back to you. Don’t tell him that I’ve spoken of him like this; he would be horrified. Now enough of him!