I could not however do otherwise than reply to the letter of Madam
d'Epinay without acknowledging myself to be worthy of the treatment
with which she and her friend overwhelmed me. I determined upon
notifying to her my sentiments and resolutions, not doubting a
moment that from humanity, generosity, propriety, and the good
manner of thinking, I imagined I had observed in her,
notwithstanding her bad one, she would immediately subscribe to
them. My letter was as follows:
HERMITAGE, 23d Nov., 1757.
"Were it possible to die of grief I should not now be alive. But I
have at length determined to triumph over everything. Friendship,
madam, is extinguished between us, but that which no longer exists
still has its rights, and I respect them. I have not forgotten your
goodness to me, and you may, on my part, expect as much gratitude as
it is possible to have towards a person I no longer can love. All
further explanation would be useless. I have in my favor my own
conscience, and I return you your letter.
"I wished to quit the Hermitage, and I ought to have done it. My
friends pretend I must stay there until spring; and since my friends
desire it I will remain there until that season if you will consent to
my stay."
After writing and despatching this letter all I thought of was
remaining quiet at the Hermitage and taking care of my health; of
endeavoring to recover my strength, and taking measures to remove in
the spring without noise or making the rupture public.
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