being. My thought, my soul can henceforth be filled by you
alone, and by my harrowing regrets.
No, it is not when I compare you with myself that I fear, that I grieve lest I be not loved. Alas ! it is when I think of what I was, and of him by whom I was — but to that un- speakable happiness I had no claim, and you see now that I did not deserve it. Oh ! how my soul suffers, how painful these memories are ! Mon ami, what will become of me when I see you no more, when I await you no more ? Do you be- lieve that I could live ? the thought kills me.
But tell me why I need no courage to die, and yet have not the strength to say to myself that a day will come, a moment, when you will speak to me a word that will make me shud- der. Mon ami, never speak it ; it brings evil ; that dreadful word will be my doom ; if I hear it, I die.
How can you praise me for loving you ? Ah ! the merit, the virtue would have been in resisting the inclination, the attraction that drew me to you. But how could I fear, how foresee when guarded by a sentiment, by a grief, and by the inestimable blessing of being loved by a perfect being ? Mon ami, it was this that surrounded my soul, this that defended it when you brought into it the turmoil of remorse and the heat of passion ; and you praise me for loving you ! Ah ! it was a crime ; and the excess of it does not justify me. But I shall horrify you ; I am like Pyrrhus, and I " yield to the crime as a criminal."
Yes, to love you, or cease to live — I know but that one virtue and law of nature ; and the feeling is so true, so involuntary, and so strong, that, in truth, you owe me nothing. Ah ! how far I am from exacting, from claiming ! Mon ami, be happy; find pleasure in being loved, and I acquit you. — I am beside myself, I cannot speak to you of what I feel ; I want to tell you that I have seen the chevalier. He
