nothing; for I have not come to the really painful point of my confessions. The gay season has returned, and the principal people of Paris have returned to their hotels. I liked to see Henri jealous, because this passion was, in my opinion, an assurance of his love. Henri, who during the early period of our marriage, would not have left me alone for the world, now confides me exclusively to the care of his father. The first time this took place, his absence was a plausible excuse. He does not now even seek a pretext; a whim, an appointment, are sufficient motives for him to leave me. Whither does he go? How does he occupy himself? This is the subject of my uneasiness and torment--yet he loves me, he says, but a heart like mine, dear mother, is not easily deceived. He does not love me as he used to. A magnificent ball was given during the last month, by the Neapolitan Ambassador, the Duke of Palma, who married the famous Felina. Henri left the Prince and myself, as soon as we came to the rooms; the whole night nearly passed away without our seeing him. At last, however, he returned, pale and exhausted. The Prince, who was unacquainted with what had transpired at Sorrento, between his son and Monte-Leone, introduced me to him, and asked me to receive him at our hotel. I hesitated whether I should consent or not; when the Marquis, with an air which lacerated my very heart, asked the Count to visit me, assuring him that he would always be welcome.