Do not come back to Aix to see me, as your return
might give rise to gossip; but if you chance to come here again after
some time, we may meet, though not as old acquaintances. I am happy to
think that I have perhaps prolonged your days by giving you a nurse for
whose trustworthiness I would answer. If you would like to correspond
with me I should be happy to do my part. I am very curious to know what
happened to you after your flight from The Leads, and after the proofs
you have given me of your discretion I think I shall be able to tell you
how we came to meet at Cesena, and how I returned to my country. The
first part is a secret for everyone; only M. d'Antoine is acquainted with
a portion of the story. I am grateful for the reticence you have
observed, though Marcoline must have delivered the message I gave her.
Tell me what has become of that beautiful girl. Farewell!"

I replied, accepting her offer to correspond, and I told her the whole
story of my adventures. From her I received forty letters, in which the
history of her life is given. If she die before me, I shall add these
letters to my Memoirs, but at present she is alive and happy, though
advanced in years.

The day after I went to call on Madame Audibert, and we went together to
see Madame N---- N----, who was already the mother of three children. Her
husband adored her, and she was very happy. I gave her good news of
Marcoline, and told the story of Croce and Charlotte's death, which
affected her to tears.

In turn she told me about Rosalie, who was quite a rich woman. I had no
hopes of seeing her again, for she lived at Genoa, and I should not have
cared to face M. Grimaldi.

My niece (as I once called her) mortified me unintentionally; she said I
was ageing. Though a man can easily make a jest of his advancing years, a
speech like this is not pleasant when one has not abandoned the pursuit
of pleasure. She gave me a capital dinner, and her husband made me offers
which I was ashamed to accept. I had fifty Louis, and, intending to go on
to Turin, I did not feel uneasy about the future.

At Marseilles I met the Duc de Vilardi, who was kept alive by the art of
Tronchin. This nobleman, who was Governor of Provence, asked me to
supper, and I was surprised to meet at his house the self-styled Marquis
d'Aragon; he was engaged in holding the bank. I staked a few coins and
lost, and the marquis asked me to dine with him and his wife, an elderly
Englishwoman,