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1774] strong, that I resisted my greatest pleasure, and — see my sort of madness ! — I loved you then more actively than ever. Nothing, for six days, could distract my mind from that sealed letter ; if I had opened it the moment I received it, its impression could not have been so sharp nor so profound. At last, at last, yesterday, receiving no letters from Chante- loup, from which place you had promised to write to me, I was struck with the thought that you might be ill at Eochambeau, and, without knowing what I was doing, nor to what I yielded, your letter was read, re-read, wetted with my tears, before I thought that I was not to read it. Ah ! mon ami, how much I might have lost ! I adore your sensibility.

What you tell me of Bordeaux opened a wound that is not yet closed, and never will be. No, my life will not be long enough to mourn and cherish the memory of the most sensitive, most virtuous man who ever existed. What an awful thought ! I troubled his last days. Fearing to have to com- plain of me he exposed his life to come to me, and his last impulse was an action of tenderness and passion. I do not know if I shall ever recover strength to read again his last words. If I had not loved you, mon ami, they would have killed me. I shudder still ; I see them ; and it is you who made me guilty ; it is you who made me live ; it is you who brought trouble into my soul ; it is you that I love, that I hate, you who rend and charm a heart that is wholly yours. Mon ami, do not fear to be sad with me ; that is my tone ; sadness is my existence ; you alone — yes, you alone have the power to change my disposition ; your presence leaves me neither memories nor pain. I have experienced that you can divert even my physical sufferings. I love you, and all my faculties are employed and spell-bound when I see you.