At length I arrived at Annecy, and saw Madam
de Warrens.
As this period of my life, in a great measure, determined my
character, I could not resolve to pass it lightly over. I was in the
middle of my sixteenth year, and though I could not be called
handsome, was well made for my height; I had a good foot, a well
turned leg, and animated countenance; a well proportioned mouth, black
hair and eyebrows, and my eyes, though small and rather too far in
my head, sparkling with vivacity, darted that innate fire which
inflamed my blood; unfortunately for me, I knew nothing of all this,
never having bestowed a single thought on my person till it was too
late to be of any service to me. The timidity common to my age was
heightened by a natural benevolence, which made me dread the idea of
giving pain. Though my mind had received some cultivation, having seen
nothing of the world, I was an absolute stranger to polite address,
and my mental acquisitions, so far from supplying this defect, only
served to increase my embarrassment, by making me sensible of every
deficiency.
Depending little, therefore, on external appearances, I had recourse
to other expedients: I wrote a most elaborate letter, where,
mingling all the flowers of rhetoric which I had borrowed from books
with the phrases of an apprentice, I endeavored to strike the
attention, and insure the good will of Madam de Warrens. I enclosed M.
de Pontverre's letter in my own, and waited on the lady with a heart
palpitating with fear and expectation.
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