More grieved at the misfortunes of
France than the French themselves, I was afraid the public would
construe into flattery and mean complaisance the marks of a sincere
attachment, of which in my first part I have mentioned the date and
the cause, and which I was ashamed to show.
I went thither several times to see her, and gave her a cipher which
I had made double upon two cards; one of them was put into the linen
of the child, and by the midwife deposited with the infant in the
office of the foundling hospital according to the customary form.
The year following, a similar inconvenience was remedied by the same
expedient, excepting the cipher, which was forgotten: no more
reflection on my part, nor approbation on that of the mother; she
obeyed with trembling. All the vicissitudes which this fatal conduct
has produced in my manner of thinking, as well as in my destiny,
will be successively seen. For the present, we will confine
ourselves to this first period; its cruel and unforeseen
consequences will but too frequently oblige me to refer to it.
I here mark that of my first acquaintance with Madam D'Epinay, whose
name will frequently appear in these memoirs. She was a Mademoiselle
D'Esclavelles, and had lately been married to M. D'Epinay, son to M.
de Lalive de Bellegarde, a farmer general. She understood music, and a
passion for the art produced between these three persons the
greatest intimacy. Madam Francueil introduced me to Madam D'Epinay,
and we sometimes supped together at her house.
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