om the world--wishes people to
see him in his true character, &c., precisely what I saw to-night. Yes,
Valentine, there he was as tipsy as a coachman--with those little
hair-brained de S.'s, the eldest simply tipsy as a lord, the young one,
George, was drunk, very drunk. This is not all, the fascinating Prince
was escort to two fashionable beauties, two miserable creatures of
distressing notoriety, two of those shameless women whom we cannot fail
to recognise on account of their scandalous behavior in public; sort of
market-women disguised as fashion-plates--half apple-venders, half
coquettes, who tap men on the cheek with their scented gloves and
intersperse their conversation with dreadful oaths from behind their
bouquets and Pompadour fans! ... these creatures talked in shrill tones,
laughed out loud enough to be heard by every one around--joined in the
chorus of the Choir of Antigone with the old men of Thebes!... People
in the gallery said: "they must have dined late," that was a charitable
construction to put upon their shameful conduct--I thought to myself,
this is their usual behavior--they are always thus.

I must tell you, so you can better appreciate my angry mortification,
that just as we were stepping into the carriage the servant handed me
the letters that I had sent him to bring from the Hotel de Langeac.
Among the number was one from M. de Monbert, written several days after
I had left Paris; this letter is worthy of being sent to Grenoble; I
enclose it. While reading it, my dear Valentine, don't forget that I
read it at the theatre, and my reading was constantly interrupted by the
vulgar conversation and noisy laughter of M. de Monbert and his choice
companions, and that each high-flown sentence of this hypocritical note
had at the same time a literal and free translation in the scandalous
remarks, bursts of laughter, and stupid puns of the despicable man who
had written it.

I confess that this flow of wit interfered with my perusal of these
touching reproaches; the brilliant improvisations of the orator
prevented me from becoming too much affected by the elegiacs of the
writer.

Here is the note that I was trying to decipher through my tears when
Monsieur de Monbert swaggered into the theatre.

"Is this a test of love--a woman's vengeance or an idle caprice,
Mademoiselle? My mind is not calm enough to solve the enigma. Be
merciful and drive me not to madness! To-morrow may be too late--then
your