"Heartily loved brother, one longs to know whether thou still thinkest a little bit of thy friends in Blumenbühl, now that in the magnificent Italy thou art certainly quite in thy _essée_.[89] That thou livest in all our hearts, _that_ thou hast long known, and thou shouldst only know how long after thy departure we all wept for thee, as well thy mother as myself; and a certain one[90] thinks now-a-days quite differently of thee from what he did in old times. Much has happened this winter. The Minister's lady has separated from her husband, and lives on her estate, sometimes in Arcadia with the Princess Idoine. Our Prince is dangerously sick with the dropsy, and father can get a scrap of business from the province by this, as he says. Thy Schoppe has gone on a journey of a couple of months, leaving behind a letter to thee, which he has intrusted to father's care. He stayed latterly with us, and in thy room, and visited attentively the Countess Romeiro. It is a shame for him, for he means well; but Master Wehmeier and all of us in the place are convinced that he is, in short, mad, and he believes it, too, and says he shall therefore soon set his house in order. As touching the Countess Romeiro, she has gone off with Princess Julienne; none, however, knows whither. They say the Prince has shown her too marked attentions, and she would rather be off to Spain. Others talk of Greece, but the _certain one_ assures me she is gone to Rome to her guardian: of that now thou wilt know better than myself. The certain one undertook all that was within human possibility in order to win her, partly by letters, partly in person, to no purpose; not one smile could he gain as often as ever he addressed her even at _cour_. All this I have (wilt thou believe it?) from his mouth, for he is again often with me, and reveals to me his whole heart. Mine, however, I hold together fast, that not so much as the smallest drop of blood may trickle out from it, and God alone sees how it passes, and what a weeping there is therein. Ah, Albano, a poor girl who is in strong health must endure much before she can die. Often my eye can no longer remain dry, and I then say his talk does it, which, to be sure, is partly true, but to thee I show the _dessous des cartes_. Never, never more can I be his, for he has not dealt ingenuously with me, but altogether recklessly, and he knows it too. Nor is a single kiss allowed him; and I tell him, only for God's sake, not to take that as a coquette's manner to draw him to me. My good parents do not rightly know what they are to make of our intercourse, and I fear father may break out; then I shall have very bitter days. But shall I repel the poor, sick, pale spirit from myself, too? shall the glowing soul, exhaling like smoke, rise to heaven, and consume itself? Whose heart will not break when he is at a _Festin_, and she immediately, offended at his presence, goes home again?--as lately happened, and he said to