rybody; this was what he wished for, and
everything turned out as he expected it would. He sent my letter all
over Paris, with his own commentaries upon it, which, however, were not
so successful as he had expected them to be. It was not judged that the
permission he had extorted to make my letter public exempted him from the
blame of having so lightly taken me at my word to do me an injury.
People continually asked what personal complaints he had against me to
authorize so violent a hatred. Finally, it was thought that if even my
behavior had been such as to authorize him to break with me, friendship,
although extinguished, had rights which he ought to have respected. But
unfortunately the inhabitants of Paris are frivolous; remarks of the
moment are soon forgotten; the absent and unfortunate are neglected; the
man who prospers secures favor by his presence; the intriguing and
malicious support each other, renew their vile efforts, and the effects
of these, incessantly succeeding each other, efface everything by which
they were preceded.

Thus, after having so long deceived me, this man threw aside his mask;
convinced that, in the state to which he had brought things, he no longer
stood in need of it. Relieved from the fear of being unjust towards the
wretch, I left him to his reflections, and thought no more of him. A
week afterwards I received an answer from Madam d'Epinay, dated from
Geneva. I understood from the manner of her letter, in which for the
first time in her life, she put on airs of state with me, that both
depending but little upon the success of their measures, and considering
me a man inevitably lost, their intentions were to give themselves the
pleasure of completing my destruction.

In fact, my situation was deplorable. I perceived all my friends
withdrew themselves from me without knowing how or for why. Diderot, who
boasted of the continuation of his attachment, and who, for three months
past, had promised me a visit, did not come. The winter began to make
its appearance, and brought with it my habitual disorders. My
constitution, although vigorous, had been unequal to the combat of so
many opposite passions. I was so exhausted that I had neither strength
nor courage sufficient to resist the most trifling indisposition. Had my
engagements; and the continued remonstrances of Diderot and Madam de
Houdetot then permitted me to quit the Hermitage, I knew not where to go,
nor in what manne