Here I still languish in my prison, Madame, still rash and culpable and alas! still trusting in that beautiful _star_ of comedy, which, for one brief instant, deigned to call me her _destiny_ The Star and its Destiny! what a charming couple to figure in a romance like the poet Scarron's! And yet, how difficult we should find it to sustain the two characters now! The heavy vehicles which used to jolt us over the uneven pavements of Mons, have been superseded by coach, post-chaise and other new inventions. Where shall we find to-day those wild adventures, that gay, Bohemian life that united us, poets and actresses, as comrades and equals? You have betrayed and deserted us, and left us to perish in some miserable inn, while you share the fortunes of some rich and gallant lord. Here, in sooth, am I, but lately the brilliant actor, the prince in disguise, the disinherited son and the banished lover, no better treated than some provincial rhymer! My countenance disfigured by an enormous plaster only adds to my discomfiture. The landlord, tempted by the plausible story poured into his ears by La Rancune, has consented to hold as security for the settlement of his account the person of the son of the great Khan of the Crimea, sent here to finish his education and well known throughout Christian Europe as Brisacier. Had the old intriguer, La Rancune, left me a few gold pieces, or even a paltry watch set with false brilliants, I could, doubtless, have won the respect of my accusers and extricated myself from this unfortunate situation. But in addition, you have left my wardrobe furnished only with a puce-coloured smock-coat, a blue and black striped waist-coat and small clothes in a doubtful state of repair. The suspicions of the landlord were awakened upon lifting my valise after your departure, and he insulted me to my face by calling me an imposter, and a _contraband prince_, I sprang up to stab him, but La Rancune had removed my sword, fearing lest despair on account of the ungrateful mistress who has abandoned me, might lead me to thrust it through my heart. This precaution was needless, O La Rancune! An actor never stabs himself with the sword that he has worn in many a comedy; nor does he who is himself the hero of tragedy ape the hero of a romance. I call all my comrades to witness that such a death could never be represented with dignity upon the stage. I know that one may plant his sword in the earth and fall upon it with outstretched arms; but in spite of the cold weather, I have here a bare floor with no carpet. The window, too, is wide enough and at sufficient height to aid in putting an end to all despair. But ... but as I have told you a thousand times, I am an actor with a conscience.