I have observed the
distance from the Hermitage to Eaubonne was considerable; I went by
the hills of Andilly, which are delightful; I mused, as I walked, on
her whom I was going to see, the charming reception she would give me,
and upon the kiss which awaited me at my arrival. This single kiss,
this pernicious embrace, even before I received it, inflamed my
blood to such a degree as to affect my head, my eyes were dazzled,
my knees trembled, and unable to support me; and I was obliged to stop
and sit down; my whole frame was in inconceivable disorder, and I
was upon the point of fainting. Knowing the danger, I endeavored at
setting out to divert my attention from the object, and think of
something else. I had not proceeded twenty steps before the same
recollection, and all that was the consequence of it, assailed me in
such a manner that it was impossible to avoid them, and in spite of
all my efforts I do not believe I ever made this little excursion
alone with impunity. I arrived at Eaubonne, weak, exhausted, and
scarcely able to support myself. The moment I saw her everything was
repaired; all I felt in her presence was the importunity of an
inexhaustible and useless ardor. Upon the road to Eaubonne there was a
pleasant terrace, called Mont Olympe, at which we sometimes met. I
arrived first, it was proper I should wait for her; but how dear
this waiting cost me! To divert my attention, I endeavored to write
with my pencil billets, which I could have written with the purest
drops of my blood; I never could finish one which was eligible.
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