Happily,
both for her and myself, our amours, or rather rendezvous, were not of
long duration: and though my connection with Miss Vulson was less
dangerous, after a continuance of some greater length, that likewise
had its catastrophe; indeed the termination of a love affair is good
for nothing, unless it partakes of the romantic, and can furnish out
at least an exclamation.
Though my correspondence with Miss Vulson was less animated, it
was perhaps more endearing; we never separated without tears, and it
can hardly be conceived what a void I felt in my heart. I could
neither think nor speak of anything but her. These romantic sorrows
were not affected, though I am inclined to believe they did not
absolutely center in her, for I am persuaded (though I did not
perceive it at that time) being deprived of amusement bore a
considerable share in them.
To soften the rigor of absence, we agreed to correspond with each
other, and the pathetic expressions these letters contained were
sufficient to have split a rock. In a word, I had the honor of her not
being able to endure the pain of separation. She came to see me at
Geneva.
My head was now completely turned; and during the two days she
remained here, I was intoxicated with delight. At her departure, I
would have thrown myself into the water after her, and absolutely rent
the air with my cries. The week following she sent me sweetmeats,
gloves, etc. This certainly would have appeared extremely gallant, had
I not been informed of her marriage at the same instant, and that
the journey I had thought proper to give myself the honor of, was only
to buy her wedding suit.
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