ment. Alas! in abandoning myself to the hope of so agreeable a
life I little suspected that which awaited me.

We afterwards spoke of my situation with Madam d'Epinay. I showed her
the letter from Diderot, with my answer to it; I related to her
everything that had passed upon the subject, and declared to her my
resolution of quitting the Hermitage.

This she vehemently opposed, and by reasons all powerful over my heart.
She expressed to me how much she could have wished I had been of the
party to Geneva, foreseeing she should inevitably be considered as having
caused the refusal, which the letter of Diderot seemed previously to
announce. However, as she was acquainted with my reasons, she did not
insist upon this point, but conjured me to avoid coming to an open
rupture let it cost me what mortification it would, and to palliate my
refusal by reasons sufficiently plausible to put away all unjust
suspicions of her having been the cause of it. I told her the task she
imposed on me was not easy; but that, resolved to expiate my faults at
the expense of my reputation, I would give the preference to hers in
everything that honor permitted me to suffer. It will soon be seen
whether or not I fulfilled this engagement.

My passion was so far from having lost any part of its force that I never
in my life loved my Sophia so ardently and tenderly as on that day, but
such was the impression made upon me by the letter of Saint Lambert, the
sentiment of my duty and the horror in which I held perfidy, that during
the whole time of the interview my senses left me in peace, and I was not
so much as tempted to kiss her hand. At parting she embraced me before
her servants. This embrace, so different from those I had sometimes
stolen from her under the foliage, proved I was become master of myself;
and I am certain that had my mind, undisturbed, had time to acquire more
firmness, three months would have cured me radically.

Here ends my personal connections with Madam d'Houdetot; connections of
which each has been able to judge by appearance according to the
disposition of his own heart, but in which the passion inspired me by
that amiable woman, the most lively passion, perhaps, man ever felt, will
be honorable in our own eyes by the rare and painful sacrifice we both
made to duty, honor, love, and friendship. We each had too high an
opinion of the other easily to suffer ourselves to do anything derogatory
to our dignity. We