Sunday, May 23, 1773.
If I were young, pretty, and very charming, I should not fail to see much art in your conduct to me ; but as I am nothing of all that, I find a kindness and an honour in it which have won you rights over my soul forever. You have filled it with gratitude, with esteem, with sensibility, and all other feelings which give intimacy and confidence to intercourse. I cannot speak as well as Montaigne upon friendship, but, believe me, we shall feel it better. And yet, if what Mon- taigne says had been in his heart, would he have consented to live after the loss of such a friend ?
But this is not the questioji here ; it is of you, of the grace, the delicacy, the timeliness of your quotation. You come to my rescue ; you will not let me blame myself ; you will not suffer your memory to be a sad reproach to my heart, and, perhaps, an offence to my self-respect ; in a word, you wish me to enjoy in peace the friendship that you offer me and prove to me with as much gentleness as grace. Yes, I accept it ; I make it my blessing ; it will console me ; and if I ever again enjoy your society it will be the pleasure I shall feel and desire the most.
I hope you have pardoned me the wrong I did not do. You surely feel that it is not possible for me to suspect you of an impulse against kindness and honour. Yet I accused you of it ; that meant nothing, except that I was weak and cul- pable, and, above all, troubled to the point of losing my presence and freedom of mind. You see things too well and too quickly to let me fear you could mistake me ; I am well assured that your soul sees no reason to complain of the emotions of mine.
I know that you did not start till Thursday at half -past five o'clock. I was at your door, two minutes after your departure. I had sent in the morning to inquire at what hour you left on
