ravelled forty leagues without being able to regain my
self-possession. At last we stopped at Chalons, and Benjamin
Constant, rallying his spirits, relieved by his wonderful powers of
conversation, at least for some moments, the weight which oppressed
me. Next day we continued our route as far as Metz, where I wished
to stop to wait for news from my father. There I passed fifteen
days, and met one of the most amiable and intelligent men whom
France and Germany combined could produce, M. Charles Villers. I was
delighted with his society, but it renewed my regret for that first
of pleasures, a conversation, in which there reigns the most perfect
harmony in all that is felt, with all that is expressed.

My father was extremely indignant at the treatment I had received at
Paris; he considered that his family were in this manner proscribed,
and driven as criminals out of that country which he had so
faithfully served. He recommended me to pass the winter in Germany,
and not to return to him until the spring. Alas! alas! I calculated
on then carrying back to him the harvest of new ideas which I was
going to collect in this journey. For several years preceding he was
frequently telling me that my letters and conversation were all that
kept up his connection with the world. His mind had so much vivacity
and penetration, that one was excited to think by the pleasure of
talking to him. I made observations to report to him,--I listened,
to repeat to him. Ever since I have lost him, I see and feel only
half what I did, when I had the object in view of giving him
pleasure by the picture of my impressions. At Frankfort, my
daughter, then five years old, fell dangerously ill. I knew nobody
in that city, and was entirely ignorant of the language; even the
physician to whose care I entrusted my child scarcely spoke a word
of French. Oh! how much my father shared with me in all my trouble!
what letters he wrote me! what a number of consultations of
physicians, all copied with his own hand, he sent me from Geneva!
Never were the harmony of sensibility and reason carried further;
never was there any one like him, possessed of such lively emotion
for the sufferings of his friends, always active in assisting them,
always prudent in the choice of the means of being so; in short,
admirable in every thing. My heart absolutely requires this
declaration, for what is now to him even the voice of posterity!

I arrived at Weimar, where I resumed m