“My mother has written to me about Max. This is what she says: ‘_Je ne conseille pas, 201 (moi) de s’embarrasser du voisinage; si le voisin fait trop de bruit, il n’y a que faire passer votre lit dans l’antichambre; par là vous éviterez le bruit, et vous éloignerez du galant_’. I shall know what to do! My mother also tells me the Electress has thanked her for letting me come back, and said she was delighted to see me again. My mother says, considering the kindness the Electress shows me, it is the right and proper thing for me to have left my parents and pay her my court, but she hopes at some future time the Electress will be good enough to let me return to Celle. That makes me despair more than ever, for I dare not hurry my return home, since my mother does not wish it, and I have only just come back to Hanover.” “[HANOVER,] _Monday, Eleven at night_. “I have been to Herrenhausen. The Electress told me she had spoken to the Elector, and he thought it absurd for me to imagine such things about Max, and said: ‘It is only a silly excuse she is making. I’ll take care that Max won’t thrust himself upon her in any way.’ He also said many other things, too long for me to tell all at once. When he had finished talking, the Electress asked him if she were to repeat everything he had said to me. At first he said ‘Everything you like,’ but afterwards he said ‘No’. I asked if the Elector wished me to remain ignorant of what he had said, because then he wouldn’t understand my coming to Herrenhausen after saying I should stay in Hanover, and the Electress (who is by way of being very attentive to me) said she should write to me a note to-morrow with full instructions what I am to do, but, whatever happens, I shall now be here the whole week. The Elector will be obliged to start in a few days, and, from what the Electress says, Max will be one of the party. “La Confidente went last night to La Platen’s, who talked a good deal about me. She said that people do not understand the retired life I lead, and every one is talking about it; but that is the least of my troubles, for I scorn the whole world so long as we love one another. I had hoped, as I can see you no longer, that I should receive a line from you to-day; I am much disappointed that nothing has come. I wonder I have the strength to write to you. I am distressed beyond words at your departure on this campaign. _Mon Dieu!_ why have you gone? What would I not give to scold you in person for the injustice you did me yesterday when you thought I wanted you to leave me sooner than usual? I would give my warm blood and very life to lengthen the moments we spend together.