LETTER CXII.
GENERAL B—— TO THE DUCHESS OF ——.
MY DEAR MADAM, Yarmouth.
Today Mr. L——, finding himself sufficiently recovered, gave orders to all his suite to embark, and the wind being fair, determined to go on board immediately. In the midst of the bustle of the preparations for his departure, Lady Leonora, exhausted by her former activity, and unable to take any part in what was passing, sat silent, pale, and motionless, opposite to a window, which looked out upon the sea; the vessel in which her husband was to sail lay in sight, and her eyes were fixed upon the streamers, watching their motion in the wind.
Mr. L—— was in his own apartment writing letters. An express arrived; and among other letters for the English ambassador to Russia, there was a large packet directed to Lady Leonora L——. Upon opening it, the crimson colour flew into her face, and she exclaimed, “Olivia’s letters!—Lady Olivia——‘s letters to Mad. de P——. Who could send these to me?”
“I give you joy with all my heart!” cried I; “no matter how they come—they come in the most fortunate moment possible. I would stake my life upon it they will unmask Olivia at once. Where is Mr. L——? He must read them this moment.”
I was hurrying out of the room to call my friend, but Lady Leonora stopped my career, and checked the transport of my joy.
“You do not think, my dear general,” said she, “that I would for any consideration do so dishonourable an action as to read these letters?”
“Only let Mr. L—— read them,” interrupted I, “that is all I ask of your ladyship. Give them to me. For the soul of me I can see nothing dishonourable in this. Let Lady Olivia be judged by her own words. Your ladyship shall not be troubled with her trash, but give the letters to me, I beseech you.”