“You must let me complain, _ma chérie_, of the mean farewell you gave me. My love deserved something far different; but if you had a heart of ice you could not have given me a colder parting. I found the company very lively at the camp, every one sword in hand, prancing to the music of trumpets and kettledrums; but it all diverted me so little that I wished myself twenty leagues away. My dejection was so apparent that Monsieur Bielke[110] asked me what was the matter, and why I would not drink a glass of wine with him. I told him that I knew he was vexed about Aurora, and I was annoyed too, but I hoped he would not blame me in any way, as I knew nothing about it. He embraced me, and said he was sure I did not, but the pain she had caused him the last two days surpassed everything; and much more—too long to write—I will keep it for word of mouth. I will only add that he swore awful oaths that he would never speak to her again. The clinking of glasses, the noise of trumpets and kettledrums,[111] mingled with the softer sound of flutes and the hoarse cries of men drinking, made the drollest harmony in the world; but the revelry gave me opportunity to hide myself in a corner and dream at will. Whilst the others kissed, embraced, danced, stripped, and jumped on the tables, I thought only of my sad plight, and I found it so miserable that, in spite of all the festivity, tears sprang to my eyes and I was obliged to steal away to go to bed. Three hours of absence from you have grieved me so much that I am no longer master of my heart. I am so overcome with all these emotions that I have been beside myself all the evening.” ----- Footnote 110: “Count Bielke (a Swedish envoy), the most dangerous man in these parts ... full of French designs.”—_Vide_ Colt’s _Despatches_, June, 1692. Footnote 111: “According to that old Teutonic fashion with which Shakespeare has made his countrymen familiar, as often as any of the great princes proposed a health, the kettledrums and trumpets sounded.”—Macaulay’s _History of England_, vol. iv., p. 7. ----- “[WHILE ON THE MARCH, undated.] “In this unpleasant abode nothing could be so dear to me as your dear letter. I read it again and again; I know it by heart, word for word. It is charming and tender, and heals all jealous pains. Be as good as your word, or you will never see your lover alive again.