more, and I read words which I ought not to survive.
Ah ! my blood, my life would be a poor price to pay for
such feelings as his; see, therefore, how I must judge of
yours.
The Abb^ Morellet told me a few days ago, in the inno- cence of his heart, that you were in love with the young Com- tesse de Boufflers ; that you were really much occupied with her ; that you had the strongest desire to please her, etc., etc. If it is not all true, it is so probable that it seems to me I ought to complain only that you did not take me into your confi- dence. To acquit you towards me I ask of you only one thing, and that is, to tell me the truth. Believe that there is no truth, none, that I cannot bear. I may seem to you feeble, enough so to make you think you ought to spare me, but it is not so. On the contrary, never did I feel more strength. I have the strength of suffering, and I can fear nothing more in this world, not even the harm you think yourself obliged to do me. Adieu.
How little I see of you, how badly I saw you to-day, and how painful it is to me not to know where you are at this moment ! I hope at Eis, and that you will return by to- morrow evening. They say the Comte de Broglie is expected here to-morrow morning. It is singular that I should be led to concern myself about his return, and to desire it may be earlier than his friends themselves desire. Hon Dieu ! how a sentiment, a feeling changes and upsets all ! That " I " of which F^nelon speaks is a myth. I feel in a positive manner that I am not I, I am you ; and in order to be you, I have no sacrifice to make. Your interests, your affections, your happi- ness, your pleasures, — in them, mon ami, is the / that is dear to me, that is within me ; all else is external and foreign to me ; you alone in the universe can hold and occupy my
