“The day before yesterday I had a long conversation with my colonel’s wife in the Capuchins’ garden, where I was taking a solitary walk. She came up with her husband and several officers, and took upon herself to chaff me about my beard. Then she went on to say she pitied me because I was so unlucky, and another man was more successful. I pressed her to tell me whom she thought I loved. She would not tell me positively, but she let me know enough to be sure she meant you. I urged her to tell me the name of the happy man; I did not want to know the name of the lady, only the cavalier, but she refused. I begged of her to tell me where she got her information. She said nothing definite, but enough to make me guess she got it from Madohr. You cannot think what an impression it has made on my mind. I tell you frankly that unless you cure me of my new and just suspicions I shall never return to you. It will be hard for me; I shall not be able to survive it. But it is better to die than to live without being loved.... In finishing my letter I took up yours again to look for a little comfort. I found some; but as you only give me an account of the 13th, and as the Prince went on the 6th,[135] I want to know what you were doing the other days. Apparently the foreigners were at Hanover, for the Duchess took you to the comedy on the 13th, a sure sign that the foreigners were there, otherwise the comedy would not have been played. On the 15th the little man[136] went. You kept your room, but not on the 16th, 17th, 18th, and 19th. What was the day of the _fête_?[137] There were three days you might have kept indoors, for the Prince’s departure was a good pretext; but the desire to be seen by the foreigners made you forget all your promises. You cared nothing about the Prince’s departure nor for mine; both must have been very welcome to you.... You tell me in your letter, ‘let us love one another for ever’. Did you really think about what you were writing? At that very time I believe your mind was full of pleasing Monsieur le Rittermeister.[138] No doubt he told you that he had come from the wilds of Turkey to admire your beauty, of which he had heard the Turks speak when he was a prisoner amongst them. He charmed you, for that sort of flattery is sure to please a woman, and you doubtless believed he was telling you the truth; but he only came to Hanover to pick up a few hundred ducats to set up his ruined equipage again before Grossvardein. I tell you that I cannot speak of the man without my blood boiling. I may suspect you wrongly, but appearances are against you. I have suffered torments for weeks from not having received your letters. Your departure from Hanover did not take place when you said; I knew from the first that the foreigners were there. You go to the comedy, the festival, and the music, notwithstanding that you had a