This doubt was another wound given to my heart, with which she
must have been so well acquainted. She did me justice, but not
immediately: I understood that an examination of the packet I had sent
her, made her perceive her error: I saw she reproached herself with
it, by which I was a gainer of something. She could not take back
her letters without returning me mine. She told me she had burnt them:
of this I dared to doubt in my turn, and I confess I doubt of it at
this moment. No, such letters as mine to her were, are never thrown
into the fire. Those of Eloisa have been found ardent. Heavens! what
would have been said of these? No, no, she who can inspire a like
passion, will never have the courage to burn the proofs of it. But I
am not afraid of her having made a bad use of them: of this I do not
think her capable; and besides I had taken proper measures to
prevent it. The foolish, but strong apprehension of raillery, had made
me begin this correspondence in a manner to secure my letters from all
communication. I carried the familiarity I permitted myself with her
in my intoxication so far as to speak to her in the singular number:
but what theeing and thouing! she certainly could not be offended with
it. Yet she several times complained, but this was always useless: her
complaints had no other effect than that of awakening my fears, and
I besides could not suffer myself to lose ground. If these letters
be not yet destroyed, and should they ever be made public, the world
will see in what manner I have loved.
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