es, if I may so express myself,
our being to the utmost extent of our sensations, embellishing all nature
with an inexpressible charm, flowing from the conscious and rising
enjoyment of our existence.

My pleasing inquietudes became less wandering: I had now an object on
which imagination could fix. I looked on myself as the work, the pupil,
the friend, almost the lover of Madam de Warrens; the obliging things she
had said, the caresses she had bestowed on me; the tender interest she
seemed to take in everything that concerned me; those charming looks,
which seemed replete with love, because they so powerfully inspired it,
every consideration flattered my ideas during this journey, and furnished
the most delicious reveries, which, no doubt, no fear of my future
condition arose to embitter. In sending me to Turin, I thought they
engaged to find me an agreeable subsistence there; thus eased of every
care I passed lightly on, while young desires, enchanting hopes, and
brilliant prospects employed my mind; each object that presented itself
seemed to insure my approaching felicity. I imagined that every house
was filled with joyous festivity, the meadows resounded with sports and
revelry, the rivers offered refreshing baths, delicious fish wantoned in
these streams, and how delightful was it to ramble along the flowery
banks! The trees were loaded with the choicest fruits, while their shade
afforded the most charming and voluptuous retreats to happy lovers; the
mountains abounded with milk and cream; peace and leisure, simplicity and
joy, mingled with the charm of going I knew not whither, and everything I
saw carried to my heart some new cause for rapture. The grandeur,
variety, and real beauty of the scene, in some measure rendered the charm
reasonable, in which vanity came in for its share; to go so young to
Italy, view such an extent of country, and pursue the route of Hannibal
over the Alps, appeared a glory beyond my age; add to all this our
frequent and agreeable halts, with a good appetite and plenty to satisfy
it; for in truth it was not worth while to be sparing; at Mr. Sabran's
table what I eat could scarce be missed. In the whole course of my life
I cannot recollect an interval more perfectly exempt from care, than the
seven or eight days I was passing from Annecy to Turin. As we were
obliged to walk Madam Sabran's pace, it rather appeared an agreeable
jaunt than a fatiguing journey; there still remains the