ormerly observed) and enjoying the familiarity of a son, it became
natural to consider myself as such, and I am inclined to think this was
the true reason of that insensibility with a person I so tenderly loved;
for I can perfectly recollect that my emotions on first seeing her,
though not more lively, were more voluptuous: At Annecy I was
intoxicated, at Chambery I possessed my reason. I always loved her as
passionately as possible, but I now loved her more for herself and less
on my own account; or, at least, I rather sought for happiness than
pleasure in her company. She was more to me than a sister, a mother, a
friend, or even than a mistress, and for this very reason she was not a
mistress; in a word, I loved her too much to desire her.

This day, more dreaded than hoped for, at length arrived. I have before
observed, that I promised everything that was required of me, and I kept
my word: my heart confirmed my engagements without desiring the fruits,
though at length I obtained them. Was I happy? No: I felt I know not
what invincible sadness which empoisoned my happiness, it seemed that I
had committed an incest, and two or three times, pressing her eagerly in
my arms, I deluged her bosom with my tears. On her part, as she had
never sought pleasure, she had not the stings of remorse.

I repeat it, all her failings were the effect of her errors, never of her
passions. She was well born, her heart was pure, her manners noble, her
desires regular and virtuous, her taste delicate; she seemed formed for
that elegant purity of manners which she ever loved, but never practised,
because instead of listening to the dictates of her heart, she followed
those of her reason, which led her astray: for when once corrupted by
false principles it will ever run counter to its natural sentiments.
Unhappily, she piqued herself on philosophy, and the morals she drew from
thence clouded the genuine purity of her heart.

M. Tavel, her first lover, was also her instructor in this philosophy,
and the principles he instilled into her mind were such as tended to
seduce her. Finding her cold and impregnable on the side of her
passions, and firmly attached to her husband and her duty, he attacked
her by sophisms, endeavoring to prove that the list of duties she thought
so sacred, was but a sort of catechism, fit only for children. That the
kind of infidelity she thought so terrible, was, in itself, absolutely
indifferent; that all th