mile) screwed up to the pitch of an instrument it did not
naturally accord with, had lost its diapason; in time it returned to it
again, when I discontinued my follies, or at least gave in to those more
consonant to my disposition. This epoch of my youth I am least able to
recollect, nothing having passed sufficiently interesting to influence my
heart, to make me clearly retrace the remembrance. In so many successive
changes, it is difficult not to make some transpositions of time or
place. I write absolutely from memory, without notes or materials to
help my recollection. Some events are as fresh in my idea as if they had
recently happened, but there are certain chasms which I cannot fill up
but by the aid of recital, as confused as the remaining traces of those
to which they refer. It is possible, therefore, that I may have erred in
trifles, and perhaps shall again, but in every matter of importance I can
answer that the account is faithfully exact, and with the same veracity
the reader may depend I shall be careful to continue it.

My resolution was soon taken after quitting Le Maitre; I set out
immediately for Annecy. The cause and mystery of our departure had
interested me for the security of our retreat: this interest, which
entirely employed my thoughts for some days, had banished every other
idea; but no sooner was I secure and in tranquility, than my predominant
sentiment regained its place. Nothing flattered, nothing tempted me, I
had no wish but to return to Madam de Warrens; the tenderness and truth
of my attachment to her had rooted from my heart every imaginable
project, and all the follies of ambition, I conceived no happiness but
living near her, nor could I take a step without feeling that the
distance between us was increased. I returned, therefore, as soon as
possible, with such speed, and with my spirits in such a state of
agitation, that though I recall with pleasure all my other travels, I
have not the least recollection of this, only remembering my leaving
Lyons and reaching Annecy. Let anyone judge whether this last event can
have slipped my memory, when informed that on my arrival I found Madam de
Warrens was not there, having set out for Paris.

I was never well informed of the motives of this journey. I am certain
she would have told me had I asked her, but never was man less curious to
learn the secrets of his friend. My heart is ever so entirely filled
with the present, or with pa