ing, and loving me too much, observing to her she was a fool and
would at length be made a dupe.

This woman possessed, to a supreme degree, the art of multiplying the
presents made her, by concealing from one what she received from another,
and from me what she received from all. I could have pardoned her
avarice, but it was impossible I should forgive her dissimulation. What
could she have to conceal from me whose happiness she knew principally
consisted in that of herself and her daughter? What I had done for the
daughter I had done for myself, but the services I rendered the mother
merited on her part some acknowledgment. She ought, at least, to have
thought herself obliged for them to her daughter, and to have loved me
for the sake of her by whom I was already beloved. I had raised her from
the lowest state of wretchedness; she received from my hands the means of
subsistence, and was indebted to me for her acquaintance with the persons
from whom she found means to reap considerable benefit. Theresa had long
supported her by her industry, and now maintained her with my bread.
She owed everything to this daughter, for whom she had done nothing, and
her other children, to whom she had given marriage portions, and on whose
account she had ruined herself, far from giving her the least aid,
devoured her substance and mine. I thought that in such a situation she
ought to consider me as her only friend and most sure protector, and
that, far from making of my own affairs a secret to me, and conspiring
against me in my house, it was her duty faithfully to acquaint me with
everything in which I was interested, when this came to her knowledge
before it did to mine. In what light, therefore, could I consider her
false and mysterious conduct? What could I think of the sentiments with
which she endeavored to inspire her daughter? What monstrous ingratitude
was hers, to endeavor to instil it into her from whom I expected my
greatest consolation?

These reflections at length alienated my affections from this woman, and
to such a degree that I could no longer look upon her but with contempt.
I nevertheless continued to treat with respect the mother of the friend
of my bosom, and in everything to show her almost the reverence of a son;
but I must confess I could not remain long with her without pain, and
that I never knew how to bear restraint.

This is another short moment of my life, in which I approached near to
happin