This, to me, was
decisive, and I then clearly saw my imprudence in having so long a
time kept such a woman near me. I made no use of invective; I scarcely
deigned to speak to her a few words of contempt. I felt what I owed to
the daughter, whose steadfast uprightness was a perfect contrast to
the base maneuvers of the mother. But from that instant my
resolution was taken relative to the old woman, and I waited for
nothing but the moment to put it into execution.
This presented itself sooner than I expected. On the 10th of
December I received from Madam d'Epinay the following answer to my
preceding letter:
GENEVA, 1st December, 1757.
"After having for several years given you every possible mark of
friendship all I can now do is to pity you. You are very unhappy. I
wish your conscience may be as calm as mine. This may be necessary
to the repose of your whole life.
"Since you are determined to quit the Hermitage, and are persuaded
that you ought to do it, I am astonished your friends have prevailed
upon you to stay there. For my part I never consult mine upon my duty,
and I have nothing further to say to you upon your own."
Such an unforeseen dismission, and so fully pronounced, left me
not a moment to hesitate. It was necessary to quit immediately, let
the weather and my health be in what state they might, although I were
to sleep in the woods and upon the snow, with which the ground was
then covered, and in defiance of everything Madam d'Houdetot might
say; for I was willing to do everything to please her except render
myself infamous.
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