To know this, is the thing I could the most desire ; and yet am I in this deplorable condition ! And do you then take a pleasure in thinking of me ? in talking of me ? and have more satisfaction in writing your sentiments to me than in telling them ? In whatever way they come, they meet with a reception, the warmth of which can only be known to those who love as I do. In expressing yourself thus, you make me feel the greatest tenderness for you that is possible to be felt ; and if you think of me, be assured that I, on my side, am continually thinking of you. Mine is what the devotees call an habitual thought ; it is what we ought to have for the Divine Being, were we to do our duty. Nothing is capable of diverting me from it. I see your carriage continually driving on, never, never to come nearer to me ; I fancy myself on the road, and am always in apprehensions of the carriage overturning. I am almost distracted at the violent rains we have had the last three days, and am frightened to death at the thoughts of the Rhone. I have at this instant a map before me ; I know every place you sleep at. To-night you are at Nevers, Sunday you will be at Lyons, where you will receive this letter. I could only write to you at Moulins by Madame de Gueneguad. I have had but two letters from you ; perhaps a third is on the road ; they are my only comfort. I ask for no other. I am utterly incapable of seeing much company at a time ; I may recover the feeling hereafter, but it is out of the question now. The Duchesses of Verneciel and Arpajon have used all their endeavors to divert me, for which I am much obliged to them. Never, surely, were there better people than in this country. I was all the day on Saturday at Madame de Villars[1], talking of you, and weeping ; she takes a great share in my sorrow. Yesterday I heard Monsieur d'Agen[2] preach, and was at Madame de Puisieux and Madame du Pui-du-Fou's, who both send you a thousand
