proach you ; I do not think I have the right to do so, and
I should be grieved to displease you. The interest that I
bear you makes me suffer from a thousand things that are of
no account to you ; one must love, to be aware of the harm
one does to those who love us ; the mind alone does not
give the delicacy with which one ought to treat a sick and
unliappy soul. But exordiums are wearisome ; let us come
to the fact.
Mon ami, you wish to keep the object of your journey a secret from me ; if it is a good object why do you fear to tell it to me ? And if this journey will shock my heart, why make it ? If you do not owe your love to me, you owe it to yourself to be honourable and not deceive me. Never do you give me an unreserved confidence ; what you say to me seems to escape you, and as if you hardly consented to let it do so. You started yesterday, and you did not tell me where you were going ; I do not now know where you are ; I am completely ignorant of you, and of your actions.[1] Mon ami, is that the behaviour of even the commonest friend- ship ? And do you believe that I can think without pain, that of your own free will you will be twelve days without hearing of me ? Do you suppose that I was not distressed when, knowing you were about to leave me, you would not give me your last evening in Paris ? If you loved me you would have seen the hurt you gave me when you told me, Saturday evening, that the next day you should spend with Mme. d'Archambal. I did not find a word to say in reply, but I suffered.
- ↑ M. de Guibert had gone to the country-seat of the father of the young lady he thought of marrying. The name of the place was Courcelles, near Gien, and the name of the lady, who soon after became the Com- tesse de Guibert, was Alexandrine-Louise Boutinon des Hays de Cour- celles. Her portrait by Greuze is celebrated, and has been in various Exhibitions. — Fr. Ed.
